The Face That Launched a Leaky Rowboat?
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Roarke and Leslie welcome back a very unusual helper to assist with a difficult fantasy.  Follows 'Redemption'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _I know, I've taken forever! The second part of this story is taking longer than I hoped, partly due to the distractions of my stepsons being out of school for the summer, and partly on account of a slight case of writer's block. But I'm working on it…and in the meantime, I'll try to get a chapter a day posted on this one, which is a retelling of another episode that will set up the second part of the story. By September I hope to have things back to normal. I hope you've all had a great summer!_

* * *

><p>§ § § - June 21, 2007<p>

About to head home for the night, Leslie paused in front of the steps up to the foyer when she heard Roarke chuckle, and turned in time to see him shake his head once or twice. "Something funny?" she asked.

He met her gaze, noted Christian's curious stare, and gestured them both back into the room. "This will interest you, Leslie. Do you remember when Miss Helen Trask visited the island to help with a fantasy?"

Leslie had to think back for a long moment. "I'm not sure," she said at length. "Was she someone I'm supposed to know?"

"Well, she wasn't famous—at least not under that name. Perhaps the phrase 'a thousand ships' will revive your memory."

Which it did, to his amusement. Leslie stared at him. "Oh…okay, what about her?"

"She'll be returning to us tomorrow," Roarke said.

Leslie settled back and folded her arms over her chest, regarding him with a half-smirk. "Didn't she have this gargantuan crush on you or something?"

By now Christian was perplexed beyond all politeness. "Would it be possible that you two might enlighten me as to what you're talking about, or is it classified information?"

Leslie and Roarke grinned at each other, and she remarked, "Well, seeing as we've recounted I don't know how many past fantasies in front of you and quite a few relatives and friends, I see no reason to keep this one a secret either."

"Quite," Roarke said. "The triplets should be just fine under Mariki's continued surveillance in the kitchen, so if you think you can spare ten or fifteen minutes, by all means sit down and make yourselves comfortable."

Christian shrugged, glancing into the foyer in the general direction of the kitchen before accompanying Leslie over to the tea table, where Roarke joined them, date book in hand and reminiscent smile on his face. Having settled himself, Christian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "All right, before you start, what prompts the backstory?"

"A guest who will be arriving on tomorrow morning's plane for a fantasy very similar to one of the ones I am about to relate to you, with Leslie's help," said Roarke. "Don't worry, Christian, you'll soon understand how it all fits together."

§ § § - May 23, 1981

"Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Roarke urged as always, and Leslie watched him motion the band into action before buttoning his suit jacket, cursorily checking Tattoo's jacket, as had been a longtime habit of his. They all turned their attention to the seaplane's hatch, where a handsome-looking young family stepped out: mother, father, and little boy around five or six years old, Leslie estimated. The father's dark curls and mother's dark waves had somehow missed the boy, whose straight black hair gleamed in the sun; they looked very tanned, as though just coming off one tropical vacation onto another.

"Boss, are those people here for a fantasy?" Tattoo asked, sounding dubious.

"Indeed they are, Tattoo," Roarke replied.

"Why do you ask?" Leslie wanted to know.

"They look like they cannot afford it," Tattoo said and peered up at his boss. "What kind of deal did you make?"

Roarke gave him a look that brought out an appreciative chortle from Leslie. "First I will tell you their story, and then you will tell me about the deal I made, all right?" he said a bit sharply.

Undaunted in the slightest, Tattoo shrugged. "Don't be sore, boss. Sometimes you're a sucker for a sad story."

"Am I?" Roarke murmured, smiling knowingly. "We shall see." He redirected their gazes to the approaching guests by continuing: "Señor Manuel Lopez is a farmer; he owns a small piece of very arid land in Durango, Mexico. The lady is Consuelo, his devoted wife; the boy is Paco, their son. He is almost eight."

Surprised, Leslie stared questioningly at him. "I thought he was maybe six at most!"

"Last year he was on his deathbed from an infection," Roarke explained, and she nodded understanding. "He talked of nothing but a birthday party. Manuel and Consuelo promised God that if Paco lived, they would give him a birthday party he would never forget. Do you have something to say now, Tattoo?" This he directed at his assistant, who was now all smiles and generosity.

"Yes," Tattoo said eagerly. "Give them the full treatment. First class!"

But Roarke looked concerned. "Unfortunately for the Lopez family, they are about to be treated…but in a way that definitely may not be first class." Tattoo and Leslie looked at each other, but mystified as they were, they'd both been around Roarke long enough not to waste any time asking questions he wouldn't yet answer.

The second guest had just stepped out of the plane when they refocused: a very pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties or so, wearing a peach-colored skirt and long-sleeved jacket over a plain tan blouse with a little-girl Peter Pan collar. Leslie could remember wearing such collars—a good ten years ago. "Poor thing," she mumbled.

Before Roarke could comment, Tattoo exclaimed in admiration, "Boss…I like her! Who is she?" As he spoke, the woman began to advance down the ramp, looking around her with a strangely unsmiling expression.

"That is Nancy Harvester of Toledo, Ohio. For years she has been the nurse to her aged uncle, who was an invalid. And, if she knows anything at all about life, it I only from the pages of the many books that have been her only companions."

"Hmm…naïve," Leslie mused. "So she never got out of the house…that's probably why she doesn't realize she's too old for that cute little blouse she's wearing. I used to wear stuff like that to school when I was in first grade."

Roarke released a huff of amusement, while Tattoo prodded the conversation along with the standard question. "What's her fantasy, boss?"

"Oh, the lady has no fantasy," Roarke said, attracting bewildered looks from his ward and his assistant. "She is here for the reading of her uncle's will, of which I am the executor."

"You mean…" Tattoo began, then let the sentence hang.

"Exactly, Tattoo. Among the many assets she has inherited, Miss Nancy Harvester has also been willed a fantasy." He gave them a significant look. "A fantasy she knows nothing about."

"That's weird," Tattoo commented. "We never had that before."

"Cool," said Leslie, grinning. "Something new. I wouldn't mind getting an inheritance like that myself."

Roarke grinned back at her, then accepted his champagne flute and raised it in toast, while Leslie mentally recited the so-familiar words along with him. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

Nancy Harvester raised her glass in return, her face a mask still uncracked by a smile for some reason. Manuel and Consuelo Lopez turned to each other with hopeful, optimistic smiles and clinked their glasses together, while Paco drank deeply from his own tall glass of milk. Leslie smiled broadly; the birthday party should be fun, despite the fact that Paco was only half her age, and she was looking forward to finding out about Nancy Harvester's unexpected inheritance.

‡ ‡ ‡

From the plane dock, the Lopezes were taken directly to the main house, for Roarke and Leslie were driving them straight to their weekend accommodations. To Leslie's amazement, this turned out to be a large, Spanish-style home of two stories, whitewash gleaming in the tropical sun; it was located some four-fifths of the way across the island, in a small, exclusive neighborhood within a mile or two of the island high school. Señor Lopez stared at the house as they all climbed out of the car. "Whoa…what do they call this place, Mr. Roarke?" he asked, impressed.

"Manuel, stop questioning Mr. Roarke," Consuelo scolded with a smile. "He's tired from the drive."

"I…I'm just asking for a name," Manuel said. "I want to tell my friends where I was."

A sweet female voice arrested their attention then and everyone turned to see whom it belonged to. "Mr. Roarke, I was just going for a ride!" She brushed off the valet who had followed her down a flight of steps whose risers were decorated with blue-and-white checkerboard tiles.

Roarke smiled apologetically, removing suitcases from the back. "Señora, we drove as fast as we could. May I present your guests, Mr. and Mrs.—"

But the lady clearly already knew them. "Manuel, Consuelo." Leslie noticed Manuel's expression rapidly freezing over, his initial surprise giving way to what seemed like disgust. The señora focused on the grinning little boy who stood with his mother's hands on his shoulders, and murmured in delight, "Paquito!" Roarke chuckled softly, while Leslie grinned at his cheerful expression.

Then Manuel looked at Roarke and demanded, "This is _her_ place?"

"José, do you mind taking the piñata into the house?" Roarke requested of the valet.

"Certainly, Mr. Roarke," he replied obligingly and approached the car. "Hello there, Miss Leslie."

"Hi, José," she replied, returning his smile.

"You brought me _here?"_ Manuel Lopez questioned, his tone chilling still further.

As if he had never spoken, Consuelo moved forward with a broad smile. "Cousin Dolores, what a pleasant surprise," she exclaimed, and they embraced, while Paco looked on and his father stalked away, throwing his hands into the air with annoyance. Roarke made a quick gesture at Leslie, who ducked hastily into the car; but before she could even take a breath, much less ask what was going on, she found herself, the car and Roarke sitting in front of the main house, all of an abrupt sudden. She blinked rapidly and shook her head hard more than once, while Roarke calmly paused beside her seat.

"Are you all right?" he asked, sounding vastly amused.

"How the heck did we get back here in a tenth of a second?" she asked, staring at him, holding onto the back of the driver's seat in case her head began to spin.

Roarke grinned. "Another trick of the trade, which I may just teach you to perform one day," he said, extending a hand. "Come with me, we have another guest to attend to."

She slid out of the car and took a few tentative steps, and when she didn't fall down, she let out a small sigh of relief and then took another look around, just to be sure she really was where she was. "I don't know if I should tell my friends about that," she admitted. "They might not believe it."

"Then don't tell them," said Roarke, as though it should have been obvious. She rolled her eyes, making him chuckle. "Tattoo is seeing to some of the preparations for Paco's birthday party tomorrow, so you and I may as well go directly to Miss Harvester's bungalow and speak with her."

In fact, they met Nancy Harvester some paces outside the bungalow, once Roarke had made a quick detour into the house to pick up Nancy's uncle's will. "Oh, hello," Nancy said. She had at least removed the jacket, but was still dressed in the same outfit in which she had arrived; the jacket was draped over one arm and she carried several books. "I was just on my way to the main house."

"I thought perhaps we could take a little stroll," Roarke offered, "while we look at the will. Miss Harvester, I should like to present my ward, Leslie Hamilton."

"Hi, Leslie," said Nancy, and Leslie murmured a greeting, wondering why the woman wouldn't smile. Maybe she was in heavy mourning over her uncle, she imagined.

"How did Mr. Roarke get to be the executor of your uncle's will?" Leslie asked. She was truly curious, not just trying to keep the conversation alive.

Nancy thought about it, frowning, then gave Leslie a blank look. "You know, I have no idea," she admitted. "Mr. Roarke?"

"I met Mr. Harvester some twenty-five years ago," Roarke explained, "when he came to the island to invest in the hotel. The business was not well known at the time and we were still quite remote—after all, this was in the days before air travel was commonplace, and nearly all our visitors arrived here on passenger liners. Mr. Harvester provided enough capital for me to expand the hotel so that I could add fifty rooms and three top-floor suites, along with the restaurant. He remained throughout the construction of the additions, and we became good friends. After his brother and sister-in-law passed away several years later, Miss Harvester went to live with him, and he wrote to me asking if I would serve as executor of his will, now that his brother was gone. He explained that he trusted no one else as he did me, and of course I agreed."

Nancy and Leslie both nodded understanding. "Funny, we never came here before this. I didn't know about that," Nancy said. "So…what am I supposed to be inheriting?"

"Well, let's see…" Roarke mused, flipping over a couple of pages of the will before he found what he was looking for. "Ah. 'And for my niece, my sole surviving heir, in addition to material rewards', et cetera, et cetera…" He flipped another page. "Et cetera…here. 'A fantasy all her own, to repay my dear and devoted niece for all the years she sacrificed in my behalf. I wish her to laugh, and cry, and dance till dawn, and have…an _affaire du coeur."_

For the first time since her arrival, Nancy had actually been smiling; now that smile faded and she stared at Roarke with what looked like alarm. "A romantic affair?"

"Precisely," Roarke said with a smile and a nod.

"No!" Nancy blurted. "Please, no affair." At Roarke's bewildered look, she blundered on, "I mean, I've never had one. It's just not me. I just couldn't do it." She pressed a palm to her cheek, blushing hotly; then she seemed to freeze in place, staring at something in the near distance. Leslie and Roarke both looked the same way; perhaps thirty yards farther on, in a small clearing, stood a tall, athletic-looking young man laughing and talking with a couple of women roughly his and Nancy's age.

"What is it, Miss Harvester?" Roarke asked.

"Gene," Nancy said. "Gene Jefferson." She headed straight for the man in question, while Roarke and Leslie watched curiously.

"Hi," Nancy called out, interrupting the laughter, as she jogged up to the fellow. Both he and the women stared blankly at her. "Gene, hi…it's Nancy! Nancy Harvester. From back home. Maple Street. You know…big house, with all the barns…"

Finally some vestige of recollection appeared on Gene Jefferson's face. "Oh, the girl in the upstairs window! Old Man Harvester's niece! Yeah!" They both chuckled, perhaps too heartily; their self-consciousness seemed to radiate off them in waves, while their forced mirth died—along with the conversation. Gene peered closely at Nancy as if waiting to hear what she wanted.

Nancy threw a nervous glance at the two women. "Isn't it great, meeting like this?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah, sure," Gene said jovially. "Nice coincidence. Well, see ya around." He turned away from her and walked off with the two women, placing a hand on the shoulder of the nearest one as they departed.

"Maybe that's why she doesn't want an affair," Leslie surmised low. "She's got a big crush on that guy."

"So it would seem," Roarke agreed quietly and guided her along as they approached a dejected Nancy, still watching Gene and his women strolling away.

Nancy heard them coming and let her upper torso slump. "Oh, Mr. Roarke," she mumbled, "I don't know what to say. I mean…I never had a sister or a girlfriend, or anybody to talk to about these things. Oh, there's so much I want to know."

Roarke smiled and offered, "I suggest that you reconsider your uncle's kind bequest of a fantasy. As a matter of fact, I know a certain woman, a lady of infinite grace and charm." He tucked the will into an inside jacket pocket as he spoke. "I could prevail upon her to come to Fantasy Island and act as…" He took in Nancy's defeated look and stance, and smiled. "Shall we call her, your own personal technical advisor."

Nancy seized on this as a lifeline. "Oh, Mr. Roarke, please, anything." He smiled agreement, and she dropped her head shyly on his shoulder. Leslie, a little embarrassed for some reason, looked around to see Gene Jefferson and his friends just disappearing around a bend in the path. Whom did Roarke have in mind, she wondered?

"Do you think she could help me get Gene's attention?" Nancy asked suddenly, lifting her head from Roarke's shoulder.

"Not only Mr. Jefferson's attention, but that of any man on the island," Roarke promised with a broad smile. "Now why don't you return to your bungalow and change your clothing, and take some time to relax at the pool or the beach, or anywhere you choose. I'll call for you in two hours, all right?"

Nancy agreed to this, thanked him and scuttled off, her scrubbed midwestern face alight with hope. Leslie watched her go, then offered, "She's very pretty. You can tell even without any makeup. Especially when she smiles, it just makes her light right up. I bet whoever your 'technical advisor' is, she won't have any trouble making Nancy attractive to men. A makeover ought to do the trick."

Roarke eyed her with interest. "Ah, my dear Leslie, you should know that ultimately, it takes much more than a pretty face, a stylish hairdo and trendy clothing to attract a man. Oh, certainly, she'll be noticed; but if Miss Harvester is as interested in Mr. Jefferson as she appears to be, it will take more than that to keep him interested in her." He made a gesture toward the path. "Let's get back to the house, we have things to do."

They walked briskly back and entered through the open French shutters, and Roarke went straight for the time-travel room while Leslie veered toward the stack of mail that sat on the desk. When she reached it, she noticed Tattoo, sitting comfortably in Roarke's chair with his feet propped on the desk, reading something. She stared at him in sheer surprise at his audacity; Tattoo glanced up, winked at her, then called out, "Hey, boss!"

Roarke, hand on the doorknob, paused, then cast Tattoo a disapproving look at his too-relaxed stance. Hastily Tattoo pulled his feet off the desk and stood up. "Where are you going?" he inquired.

"Miss Nancy Harvester's fantasy requires immediate and expert assistance," Roarke told him.

"Okay, I'm ready," Tattoo announced.

Leslie, having reached for the mail, froze; Roarke turned back from the door he'd been about to open. "This time the expert must be a woman," said Roarke pointedly, "of specific feminine abilities."

At first Tattoo looked a little confused; then his expression cleared and disgruntlement filled his round face. "Oh no, not _her_ again!"

"Yes, Tattoo," Roarke said, sounding a bit resigned, "the situation is…critical." And he let himself into the time-travel room, closing the door behind him, though not before Leslie saw wisps of white mist escaping into the study.

"Her who?" Leslie asked, totally flummoxed. "And the way you said that, she must have been here loads of times before."

"Well, not for a few years," Tattoo admitted reluctantly. "I was starting to hope we could get along without her, but oh no…yet another hopeless case that only _she_ can do anything about. I sure wish the boss would consult somebody else for a change."

"But who _is_ this paragon of feminine virtue?" Leslie persisted impatiently.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - May 23, 1981

Meantime Roarke had continued on his way back through a few dozen centuries, till the mist cleared and he came upon a small pavilion, open on two sides and guarded by muscular dark-skinned men in wraparound skirts, collars and chest chains, each armed with a sword. Two blonde young women stood nearby, one waving a fan at the figure reposing in a divan. She was beautiful, slender and regal, clad in a simple, low-cut white gown with gold braid along the bodice. When she noticed Roarke, she waved away the two servants and looked him up and down a few times. "Well. Shall I jump to my feet and embrace you to my bosom?" she inquired, lifting a hand for him to kiss.

"My dear Helen of Troy, just seeing you again satisfies my appetite for normal pleasures," he replied, accepting her hand.

"Then you can't be very hungry," she remarked, arising. "How long has it been? A few hundred years, more or less?"

"Only that?" bantered Roarke. "It seemed like a thousand."

"Do you remember where?" Helen queried, stopping him and sliding her hands up his lapels in a practiced move.

"Yes," he said, "the Empress lent us her house…" His smile lulled her into believing his purpose was entirely other than it was, and she leaned in closer to him—then he grasped her hands and gently removed them from his lapels where they'd been sliding steadily up. "We both have our duties, which is why I am here."

Her expression shifted into outrage. "What? _Work?"_ Roarke nodded, and she stalked away, nose in the air. "You just snap your fingers whenever you want me and expect me to come to your aid?"

"There is a young lady, a Miss Nancy Harvester…there are great difficulties with her fantasy," Roarke explained quickly, cajolingly, following her. "My dear Helen, the child has never lived—and if we do not help her, she may never know what it is to be a woman."

He had her and he knew it; her face had taken on a deeply sympathetic look. "No experiences at all?" she asked.

"None!"

Helen marveled at this. "Are there really some left like that?"

"At least one," said Roarke.

She regarded him for a moment; then a crafty gleam filled her eyes and she queried coyly, "Grant me a wish if I help you?"

"If it is within my power," Roarke hedged.

"Oh, it is. Now take me to your young lady, and I shall transform her into a brilliantly charming, in-control winner, overnight."

Roarke lifted a hand. "Uh, Lady Helen…please. Your power can sow havoc. We don't want to destroy this child."

"Flatterer," Helen purred happily. "Okay. Just a touch of class for the young lady."

Roarke smiled, then warned, "If you will only remember that your goal is simply to get her caught up on living. No more."

"Don't you trust me?" she asked, as if wounded.

Roarke started to answer, but she cut him off by pushing a grape into his mouth. He accepted, shaking his head, chuckling in resignation, knowing as well as she did that there just wasn't any other choice.

Tattoo and Leslie were still in the study when he returned with Helen in tow; their entrance cut off what appeared to have been an argument. "Something wrong?" he asked.

They looked at each other. "Well, I just wanted to know who you were bringing back here," Leslie said. "For some reason Tattoo wouldn't tell me. He said I was probably better off not knowing any more than I really have to. But I don't think that's fair. I may be only a go-fer and about as wet behind the ears as they get, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't know anything at all about this business and the people you work with."

"And I keep saying she's too dangerous to let you be around her," Tattoo barked.

"How much sense is that supposed to make when you won't even tell me who she is?" Leslie retorted in exasperation. "Mr. Roarke, please!"

Roarke raised both hands, palms out, to stop them. "Calm yourselves, both of you," he admonished. When he was sure they had both subsided, he smiled and stepped aside to allow the regal-looking redhead to enter the study. "Lady Helen, you know Tattoo, of course. May I introduce my ward, Leslie Hamilton. Leslie, I present to you Helen of Troy."

"Oh…" murmured Leslie, drawing out the word with understanding. "Wow. So you know Mr. Roarke? Seems like he knows everybody."

"He does, dear," Helen replied with a knowing smile at Roarke, who merely shrugged in an attempt at modesty. She came into the room and studied the girl, while Leslie gazed back with interest. "Hmm, Roarke…maybe your Nancy Harvester isn't the only one who could make use of some of my advice."

Before Roarke could do more than open his mouth, Tattoo shot out, "Oh no you don't. She's not the one you're supposed to be helping. She's too young."

"Tattoo, I'm sixteen!" Leslie protested indignantly.

"Only just," he riposted without missing a beat. "And you've got no experience at all. You won't even go out with boys who ask you out."

"That's because no boys ever ask me out," Leslie parried, while Roarke settled his stance and prepared to wait out the altercation, and Helen looked on with ever-increasing fascination. "I've gone all the way through school so far with only one boy who ever asked me out, and here I'm sixteen and about to finish tenth grade. Myeko and Camille and Lauren are always going on dates, and Maureen goes out sometimes too. Even Michiko's been asked out more than I have, and she's known around school as being really serious about her studies and her future music career. But the boys won't come near me! How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Hmm," Helen mused, regarding Leslie as she might have appraised a succulent dish after five days of fasting. "Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, huh?"

"That's right," Leslie fired off, primarily at Tattoo, before catching herself and focusing her full attention on Helen. "Well, if you really want to know the truth, I don't mind watching boys, but the ones at school…well, they're so…"

Helen smiled knowingly. "Immature," she provided, and Leslie nodded. "Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean. Well, I just might be able to give you a few little tips…"

Roarke cleared his throat, startling them all into giving him their attention; he smiled wryly, wondering if they'd actually managed to forget he was there. "If I may interrupt," he said, heavy on the irony, "I would like to remind you, Lady Helen, that you are here for Miss Harvester, not for Leslie. And Miss Harvester is easily ten or twelve years older."

"I know, Roarke, I know—Miss Harvester will require an entirely different type of advice from what I'd give your young ward here. But surely it wouldn't hurt Leslie if she hung around with us girls, hm? After all, you yourself warned me not to…'destroy the child', I believe your words were. If it's necessary for me to practice such restraint, then there's no reason Leslie here couldn't tag along and gain a little knowledge herself. You never know when she might be able to put it to good use."

"That's true, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said hopefully.

Roarke eyed her. "I had no idea you were that interested in attracting the attention of boys. You seldom mention it, if ever. I drew the conclusion that dating and having a boyfriend were low on your list of priorities."

Leslie felt herself blushing and hoped Helen wouldn't mention it. "Well, I guess I haven't really thought much about it for the most part. But…well, it sort of gets to me, when my friends have dates and I'm the only one who's never been asked out."

"You have too," Tattoo broke in, still wearing an outraged look. "Michiko's brother asked you out the first week you started school here."

Leslie rolled her eyes. "Toki? Tattoo, you've gotta be kidding. Toki hates me, and I have no clue why he even bothered asking me in the first place. I wouldn't go out with him if he were the only eligible boy on the island…but he's not." She swung around to face Roarke. "Matter of fact, I know Tommy Ichino's interested—at least, according to Camille. Please, is it all right if I hang around with Lady Helen and Nancy?"

Roarke sighed gently and smiled a little. "Well, perhaps it will do no harm…" He saw Tattoo gear up to protest and raised a hand to silence him. "However, Lady Helen, the basics only. As Tattoo said, Leslie has only recently celebrated her sixteenth birthday, and when you get into advice that is more suitable to a woman of Miss Harvester's age, you will let Leslie know that her lessons are over."

Helen grinned, and Leslie actually bounced on her feet. "Great! Thanks, Mr. Roarke!"

"You make a pretty good guardian," Helen remarked to Roarke, sounding impressed. "To tell you the truth, when you first introduced her as your ward, I had to wonder how a lifelong bachelor such as you could possibly have any success trying to bring up a teenager—and a girl at that. But the two of you seem to get along quite well, and your assistant here is a little tiger. Very protective of her, aren't you?" She addressed Tattoo with this last.

"You better believe it," Tattoo said, spearing her with a look that seemed merely to amuse her. "The boss and I promised her mother before she died that we'd raise Leslie right. Okay, I'm not really her guardian, but she's like a niece to me, so you better treat her right, you got it? Or you'll be answering to me."

"Ferocious," Helen commented, chuckling.

"And to me," Roarke put in, sobering Helen somewhat. "Remember, the basics only, and when you've completed those, you are to send Leslie back to me."

"Solemn promise," Helen said with a nod.

"When do we start?" Leslie asked.

Roarke consulted his pocket watch. "After lunch should be sufficient. Leslie, why don't you see how close Mana'olana is to serving the noon meal."

Shortly after lunch, Roarke drove Helen and Leslie to Nancy Harvester's bungalow, parking behind a second rover that sat in front of the cottage. On their way up to the door, Roarke said, "Lady Helen, I caution you again—please, we don't want to destroy this child. Nor Leslie either." He opened the door and ushered her in ahead of him, then Leslie, before stepping in himself.

"My dear Roarke," Helen exclaimed softly, "relax! Be calm! It's in my hands." She winked at Leslie, who grinned, and they crossed the bungalow to the back corner patio outside the dining alcove. Nancy Harvester lay dozing on a chaise, a white Persian cat cradled in one arm; Leslie was relieved to see that she had indeed changed, though the pink plaid short-sleeved dress she now wore seemed unduly modest. Helen herself had exchanged the white dress in which she had arrived for a stylish teal-green pantsuit.

They paused on either side of the chaise, with Leslie standing next to Roarke, who discreetly cleared his throat. Nancy promptly sat up. "Oh, Mr. Roarke," she murmured, releasing the cat, which meowed and padded back into the bungalow.

"Miss Nancy Harvester," Roarke said, "Lady Helen—Trask, your technical advisor."

Nancy stared up at him doubtfully. "It won't work," she said.

"My dear," Helen scoffed, going to her and loosening her hair, "if I could get Josephine ready for Napoleon's court, I can certainly help you." Leslie, mouth open, marveled to herself, _Wow, Josephine?_ while Roarke, alarmed, tried vainly to shush her without actually saying the words. _"Mon Dieu,_ the competition that woman had!"

Nancy stared at Roarke in perplexity, nervously fiddling with her hair; Roarke managed a rather sickly smile and then shot Helen a look that finally communicated his message to her. They all looked at Nancy, who begged, "Please don't tease me. I'd like to forget the whole project."

"Oh, please don't be afraid, Miss Harvester," Roarke urged, all smiles. "Miss Trask is the very best in her, uh…business."

"Don't you still want to get Gene Jefferson's attention?" Leslie put in, making Nancy blink in consternation. She didn't give in, but she did stop protesting.

"Now, I've brought some clothing for you; Mr. Roarke has told me your sizes," Helen said reassuringly. "And I have enough makeup for the Corps de Ballet." Roarke saw Leslie brighten at that and gave her one of those classic parental looks, mostly for show, which he and Leslie both knew she'd pay little heed to. "Why don't you go in and take a look? Leslie, you can go with her."

Doubtfully Nancy glanced back and forth between them, but got to her feet and went into the glass wall of the bedroom, Leslie at her side. Helen watched her, then with a bright smile remarked to Roarke, "She is sweet."

"Yes," Roarke agreed, then thought of something and pulled Helen aside, lowering his voice. "Uh…I caution you once more: push her too hard, and she may retreat back into that shell for the rest of her life."

"Haven't you read your history books about Helen of Troy?" she chided.

Roarke smiled. "Oh yes, forgive me…the historians describe you as an innocent symbol of purity."

Outraged, Helen yelled, "I know! You're gonna throw that damn Trojan War in my face again!"

Roarke hurriedly shushed her, pointing at the bedroom wall. "Helen, please, please, calm yourself."

"Paris kidnapped me," Helen hissed. "Ask Aphrodite! Ask Zeus! There was nothing I could do about it. I didn't want to be there. And then that…that damn Trojan horse…I mean, what the hell could I do about it? I was totally helpless…"

"You were, you were," Roarke placated her; her voice was rising and he didn't want Nancy becoming suspicious.

Helen settled herself down with visible effort and even managed a smile when she faced Roarke again. "I won't let your young lady down."

"Oh, I have no fear of that," said Roarke, his eyes stern. "I will be watching you—closely. _Very_ closely." _And for more than one reason,_ he didn't bother to add. Helen laughed, just a trace sardonically, and headed for the bedroom, walking through the curtains with a sweeping movement while Roarke watched her go.

Both Leslie and Nancy turned away from the seven overloaded shopping bags and the three huge makeup cases lying on the bed when Helen made her grand entrance. Leslie was excited, Nancy dubious. "Are you sure you can really work with me?" Nancy asked.

"Of course I can," Helen insisted brightly. She took in her pupils' respective attitudes and snapped her fingers. "I know. Leslie, I'll teach you makeup first, and Nancy, you can watch, all right?"

Nancy looked relieved. "Okay, that sounds good."

Helen steered Leslie to the small vanity tucked into the corner of the room beside the louvered closet doors and sat her down in front of the lighted mirror there. "Let's see…blue eyes, dark-blonde hair with reddish highlights, fair skin, no freckles…okay."

"I have a few freckles," Leslie corrected her, tracing the sprinkling of faint tan spots across her nose and beneath her eyes. "See them?"

"Oh, you can hardly tell," Helen said in dismissal. "They'll be easily hidden under the makeup. Do you wear any to school?"

"Mr. Roarke must have talked with some of my friends' mothers," Leslie said. In fact, a couple of months before, she had actually caught him at it one evening when she'd gone down for something to drink while doing homework. She'd managed to keep him from detecting her, at least till after he'd made the third phone call—by which time she had deduced that he was consulting Junko Sensei, Katie Ichino and Romana Tomai as to their policies on allowing their daughters to wear makeup to school. She had learned later from Myeko, Camille and Maureen that their mothers had agreed to allow them to begin wearing makeup when they turned sixteen or when they began eleventh grade, whichever came second—which in the case of all the girls was the latter. "He said I can start wearing makeup to school next year."

"Hmm," Helen mused, that impressed expression on her face again. She seemed so overwhelmed with Roarke's evident parenting tactics that Leslie decided to cut her guardian a break and not tell Helen about overhearing the phone calls. "He's getting downright progressive. All right, then, Nancy, would you bring over that second makeup case there?" She indicated the one in question, and Nancy promptly handed it to her, gaining some courage from the fact that it was Leslie who was the canvas and not Nancy herself.

About an hour or so later, Helen had shown Leslie the colors that worked best with her features and how much of each item to use, keeping in mind Leslie's age and the fact that Roarke had reminded her about how closely he intended to watch her. Leslie was amazed, staring at herself in the mirror and marveling at her new look. "I swear, I really look sixteen, don't you think so, Nancy?"

Nancy grinned gamely. "Heck, you look eighteen," she offered.

Helen groaned. "Oh no. We'd better try for something else then. Roarke'll never let her get away with this look if he thinks she looks eighteen…"

Nancy's startled eyes darted back and forth between Helen's self-annoyance and Leslie's profound disappointment, and she backtracked. "Well, no…I meant, actually, it looks exactly right on her. Really, Helen, it's perfect for her. She looks like she's sixteen, the way she really is…you know."

Helen eyed her while Leslie watched; at last Helen nodded and Leslie sagged in relief. "I thought so myself—I am an expert, after all. Besides, you have no experience. Somehow I keep forgetting that, it's so hard to believe." She turned to Leslie while Nancy stood there blushing enough to shame a stoplight. "Okay, then, what about the hairstyle? Waves and curls are all the rage now. This straight hair…how boring."

Leslie, whose hair had never been any trouble for her and who had never thought about straightness vs. curliness in her life, was almost as surprised as Nancy and Helen when she balked. "No, no, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "I like my hair the way it is. My friend Lauren has really wavy hair and she always complains about how frizzy it gets in the humidity. I don't want to deal with that. Don't give me a perm or anything."

Nancy had leaned over and was studying her own golden hair in the mirror; it looked to be naturally straight, though the clumsy chignon she'd had it pinned into all day had caused the ends to curl. "What's wrong with straight hair?" she asked blankly.

"Nothing," said Helen with strained patience. "It's just not the _in_ thing right now. I think you'd look darling with big soft curls framing your whole face, Leslie. I could cut your hair to about down to the shoulder blades, and then—"

"I don't want to cut my hair!" Leslie protested, so loudly that both Helen and Nancy flinched away. She cleared her throat and toned herself down. "Sorry. I just don't want to fool around with my hair. I like to be able to wash it and let it dry on its own, and I never get frizz or split ends because I almost never use a hair dryer, unless I'm in a hurry. I really don't want to have to bother with curling irons and blow dryers and stuff like that."

Helen gathered up a handful of Leslie's hair and let it sift through her fingers. "Well, I suppose you have a good point," she admitted. "I just thought you'd be adorable with curls. Okay, what about your wardrobe? I'm sure you'd love to change that."

"Mr. Roarke lets me pick out my own clothes every August before school starts," said Leslie. "I wear a lot of jeans, so I like to pick out fun shirts and blouses."

"And you never wear a skirt or dress?" exclaimed Helen, as if horrified. "Zeus preserve us all. I suppose you're not a typical teenager."

Leslie grinned. "Well, maybe not about that. If you want to make some suggestions, though, that's fine by me. Sometimes it's fun to get dressed up."

"I'd like to see what you do with her," added Nancy.

Helen looked at her, then sharpened her gaze, as if suddenly realizing that her real reason for being here was to advise Nancy, not experiment on Leslie. "Well, I don't know if Roarke would approve of his little girl going out and buying a lot of expensive clothing she might not even be wearing for another three or four months. Anyway, the clock's ticking, and you're the one I'm really here for. Leslie, you can stay if you want, but I won't be doing anything else with you. Roarke did say just the basics."

"Clothes are part of the basics," Leslie protested.

"And I think I'd feel a little more comfortable starting with clothes," Nancy put in shyly, her face flaming again.

Helen shrugged. "All right, if that's what makes you feel best. Let me see what I have in here." She began pawing through bags and laying dresses and gowns across the bedspread till she dug up a reasonably modest dress in wide diagonal stripes of pink and deep turquoise, accented by a white leather belt with a silver buckle. This she held up against a delighted Leslie. "Aha, just as I thought. I do have good taste, don't I? You'd be a real hit with the boys in this, Leslie. And it looks as if it'd fit you."

"I really like this," Leslie agreed with enthusiasm, surveying the dress against herself. "That turquoise is my favorite color. Can I try it on?"

Helen agreed, and Leslie changed in the bungalow's bathroom, returning to model the outfit for Helen and Nancy. Nancy was impressed. "Wow," she said. "You look so cute in that, Leslie." She regarded Helen with awe. "I'm beginning to feel better about all this."

"Good, good!" Helen exclaimed. "That's wonderful. Leslie, I'm afraid that's the only dress I have that would be suitable for someone your age, so I guess I'd better send you back to Roarke. You can keep that dress if you want to."

"Cool," Leslie gasped, thrilled. "Thanks so much, Helen!" She startled herself as much as Helen by giving her a quick, impulsive hug, then withdrew, a little embarrassed, and turned to Nancy. "Hey, if Helen could work this kind of miracle on me, then she'll turn you into a supermodel. Guaranteed. Thanks again, Helen." Helen waved gaily after her as she hurried out of the bungalow with her usual white weekend dress draped over one arm.

Roarke and Tattoo looked at her in amazement when she entered the study. "I thought you were somebody else at first," Tattoo said, gaping.

"I'm surprised Lady Helen didn't change your hair," Roarke remarked.

"I wouldn't let her," Leslie said. "I think if you hadn't laid down the law about the basics, she'd have pushed it. She was even talking about cutting it." She shuddered.

"Good thing you didn't," Tattoo said. "That's the only reason I recognized you."

"Well, what do you think otherwise?" she asked, pirouetting for their benefit.

"She has good taste," Roarke said with a smile. "That dress suits you very well indeed, and I must admit I'm quite impressed with the makeup job she did on you. I never expected her to know what would be right for a teenager."

Leslie dug around in a pocket of the white dress and tugged out a slip of paper. "She gave me a list of the makeup brands and colors I should buy so I can reproduce this look. Is it okay if I go into town and get it now?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid not. The agreement," Roarke said, raising his hands and his voice when she started to object, "is that you and your friends will be allowed to wear makeup to school, beginning the first day of your eleventh-grade year—not sooner than that. You have no reason to buy the items you need until just before that school year starts."

"Crud," mumbled Leslie, disappointed. "Well, I just thought I'd ask. I'm going to put this list someplace safe so I remember what I need when the time comes."

"You do that," said Tattoo. "Did she let you keep that dress?"

"Yup. It's okay, isn't it? I'd like to wear it to school Monday."

Roarke grinned. "I see no reason you can't, except for one thing—you'll be going to school directly from the plane dock, just like every other Monday morning. Unless you can change clothing in the car on the way to school, you'll have to wait until Tuesday."

Leslie rolled her eyes but conceded good-naturedly. "Curses," she kidded as she headed up the stairs, "foiled again." She grinned at hearing Roarke's and Tattoo's laughter.

When she came back down, dressed once again in her white dress and having scrubbed the makeup off her face, she remarked, "I wonder how Helen's getting along with Nancy. She sent me back home before I could even get to see the clothes she brought for Nancy, and I'm really wondering how it worked out."

Roarke grinned. "I warned Helen that I would be watching her very closely, and your having mentioned the subject reminds me that it would be wise to make a check on her. If you'll come with me, some of your curiosity may be satisfied."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - May 23, 1981

So Leslie accompanied Roarke to check on the preparations for the Saturday-night luau before searching out Helen and Nancy. They found Helen standing on the sidelines at a small open-air disco where ten or twelve couples seemed to be dancing to the lively music and several other people stood on the perimeter looking on. Roarke, about to ask Helen how things were going, caught himself and stared in surprise at the dance floor; Leslie followed his gaze and let a hand drift to her mouth in consternation. In the middle of the floor, a blonde woman in a red dress with a strappy top and a fringed skirt was gyrating wildly, shaking her wavy curls with abandon, apparently unaware of the attention she was drawing from all the other dancers. Helen, looking dismayed, shut her mouth, realizing that Nancy Harvester's actions spoke for themselves.

Suddenly Nancy grew aware that she was the only one still dancing and looked around her at all the other partygoers; as if cued, they began to laugh heartily. Leslie groaned softly with empathy; Nancy, mortified, took to her heels, brushing Roarke and Helen aside as she fled.

"Well, she warned me she couldn't dance," Helen mumbled, uncharacteristically abashed.

"How rude can you get, laughing at someone just because they can't dance?" Leslie demanded, quite loudly. She got the attention of some of the nearest dancers, but most others merely shrugged and resumed dancing, sweeping up the remainder in the action. Leslie snorted; Roarke laid a hand on her shoulder and turned to Helen, about to speak, but Helen raised a finger to head him off and hurried away in Nancy's wake.

Leslie sighed. "Poor Nancy," she said. "I'd have ended up dancing like that myself."

"You, my dear Leslie, wouldn't have danced at all," Roarke corrected her with a knowing wink. Again she rolled her eyes; he chuckled and suggested, "José and Elena's wedding will take place within the next hour, and there is to be a reception afterwards at Doña Dolores' villa. Would you like to come along with me for that?"

"Sure," Leslie agreed. "It'd be fun to see a real Mexican-style wedding reception." That made Roarke grin with appreciation and guide her out with him.

The beautiful Spanish villa not far from the high school had been gaily and lavishly decorated. Doña Dolores held court on the patio; a mariachi band played on the sidelines, and laughing young men and women exchanged hugs, kisses and many presents. Leslie and Roarke sat on the low brick wall of the patio, flanking young Paco, whose face was a study in mingled perplexity and excitement. "It's a wedding, Mr. Roarke," he piped up. "What do people do at a wedding?"

"They get married, for one thing," Leslie said teasingly. "See the pretty lady in the long white dress? That's the bride—she's the lady who gets married. And all the wedding guests bring presents to help the bride and her new husband start their home together."

"Exactly," Roarke said with approval, smiling at her. "Very good, Leslie. You see, Paquito, the bride is getting presents to help her become a good housewife. A sewing machine…" They watched as Elena's face lit with delight upon receiving the compact black machine, mounted on a wooden slab.

"Suppose she can't sew?" Paco asked unexpectedly. "Jorge's sister can't sew."

Surprised, Roarke regarded the little boy with a frown. "Oh? How old is she?"

"Six," Paco said.

Leslie giggled, and Roarke grinned back at her, winking. "Oh, I'm sure she will learn," he assured Paco, chuckling to himself.

"Oh, look…a cradle," Leslie exclaimed, watching a simple yet elegant wooden rocking cradle being placed atop the long picnic table. "It looks hand-carved."

Roarke smiled. "So it does. Yes, they will be a happy family."

"Don't you need a baby to be a family?" Paco demanded.

"Indeed, Paquito," murmured Roarke, glancing at his ward.

She grinned and said to the boy, "That's what the cradle's for, you know."

Roarke nodded. "A child is the most important part of any family."

Paco considered that, then grinned. "Yeah," he murmured, and again Roarke and Leslie looked at each other with smiles before Roarke gently squeezed Paco.

Roarke's attention was diverted a moment later by something on the perimeter; Leslie tried to follow his gaze and was just in time to see someone hand Doña Dolores a small envelope that looked like a telegram. With only a word of excuse, the slim dark woman arose and hurried into the house. "I wonder what happened," Leslie murmured over Paco's head.

Roarke shook his own head once or twice. "If Doña Dolores needs any help, she knows where she can find it. I'm afraid we'd better get back to the main house; I have an appointment I need to keep."

Paco looked alarmed when they both stood up. "You're leaving?"

Leslie grinned at him. "Don't worry, we'll be back for your birthday party tomorrow, we promise. Right, Mr. Roarke?"

"We certainly will," said Roarke, smiling. "We'll see you then. Leslie?"

Back at home, Roarke suggested she contact some of her friends and see whether they might be interested in bringing any of their younger siblings along to a birthday party. "You can tell them they need not bring gifts, since it's quite short notice," he said. "Have them meet here in front of the house, and you can take a rover and follow Tattoo and me to the villa for the party."

"That'll make it even better for Paco," Leslie agreed, reaching for the phone. "He's such a cute little guy, isn't he? It makes you want to give him the best of everything."

"As his parents dearly wish they could," Roarke said softly, arresting her motions for a moment before he came out of his momentary reverie and smiled at her. "Go ahead and make the calls, Leslie, I must see Lady Helen within the next half hour."

After Leslie had lined up Myeko with her siblings, ten-year-old twin brothers Taro and Tomi and almost-six-year-old sister Sayuri; Michiko and her eleven-year-old sister Reiko; Lauren with twelve-year-old Deborah and ten-year-old Adrian; and Camille with the two-year-old quadruplets, she took an unobtrusive seat in her usual chair beside Roarke's desk, just a few minutes before Helen arrived. Before Roarke could speak, she said, "Look, Roarke…I know it was a fiasco. I want to do something about it, and I have an idea."

"I'm sure you do," Roarke said, while Helen smiled at Leslie and then spied the terrace outside the French shutters behind the desk, strolling in that direction. "But you seem to have forgotten that merely changing Miss Harvester's exterior appearance has no effect whatsoever on her character or personality! Couldn't you have shown her a few dance steps at the very least? I'm very much afraid you're falling down on the job!"

Helen stopped in the doorway and threw him an exasperated glare. "Oh, for Zeus' sake, Roarke. I didn't have weeks to teach her how to comport herself with the kind of self-confidence she really needs. All I had was a couple of hours. What do you expect of me in that kind of time, miracles?"

"How long could it take to teach a dance or two?" Roarke asked in disbelief.

Helen waved a dismissive hand and continued out to the patio, while Leslie twisted around in her chair, watching avidly. "Well, she need not worry about that any longer. She doesn't even really need that much self-confidence. After all, she's looking to attract just one man in the end, right? Once she does that, she has nothing to worry about. So here's my thought…Nancy and I could switch bodies for the evening. Long enough for her to make a stunning entrance and enchant every young single man on this island. What do you think—a brilliant idea, isn't it?"

Roarke gaped at her, rendered speechless for long enough to make Leslie wonder if he was going to say anything at all. Then he put a hand to his forehead for a moment, shook his head and joined Helen on the patio. Leslie got up and leaned against the desk to see better. "My dear Lady Helen, I will assist you in any way I can, except that I will _not_ give you permission to possess the body of Nancy Harvester. I simply cannot countenance that!"

"Roarke," Helen retorted, exasperated, "don't handcuff me, or I warn you, for the first time in my existence, I shall fail!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Roarke, regarding her with a sweetly fake smile. "You also failed with Marie Antoinette." With that little zinger, he turned toward the iron chairs and benches to take a seat.

Outraged, Helen chased him. "Oh, you never did get your facts straight on that one! Marie Antoinette would still have her head if she'd only listened to me!" Ignoring the skeptical look he aimed at her, she persisted, "Now Roarke, give me the tools I need to work with, or let me out of it!"

"The fantasy has already begun," Roarke pointed out, staring at her. "You cannot quit, you know that!"

"Roarke, please," Helen entreated. "I'll even give you back the wish you promised to grant me." That elicited a surprised look from Roarke; Leslie suspected that it was the very rare day when Helen of Troy was reduced to begging for anything. "All I want are a few opportunities to—to guide her through the steps! Like a…a mother would put a child's feet on hers. Give her some confidence. Show her how to take one step at a time." She said this in cadence with each dainty step she took across the patio on her attempt to convince Roarke to give her freer leeway.

To anyone else, Roarke might have appeared to be taken in; but Leslie knew her guardian well enough by now to read the truth under the smile, and Tattoo would have seen it as well, had he not been down at Doña Dolores' villa helping to set things up for Paco's birthday party. Roarke arose and spoke in a syrupy tone that had Leslie fighting off a laugh. "Lady Helen…my sweet friend and associate…given Nancy Harvester's body for one moment, I would never get you out. You know that, I know that. You will live a lifetime in her form while incidentally cutting a swath of sexual devastation completely across the world!"

"Holy cow," Leslie couldn't resist remarking from the office, snaring their surprised attention for a moment. "Talk about ruining somebody's reputation."

"Quite," concurred Roarke dryly.

Helen's face acquired a sweetly cajoling look and she leaned in close to Roarke, tilting her head coquettishly. "Would it really be so bad to have me around all the time?" she purred with a smile.

Roarke stood staring at her for a long, hypnotized moment. "On the contrary," he murmured, almost too low for Leslie to hear, and they gazed at each other with his arm slowly moving as if to embrace her. Then he caught himself and took a small step back. "Uh, b-but that particular young lady is fully entitled to experience every single moment of her life completely unfettered." He paused. "You do agree with me, don't you?"

Leslie, still grinning to herself at her guardian's brief near-loss of self-control, was relieved when Helen capitulated. "The trouble is, I've gotten to like her. She's so eager, so hungry to live." She smiled wistfully. "And life is just waiting out there to punch her right in the mouth." With that, she departed, shaking her head.

Leslie burst out laughing while Roarke stared after Helen in amazement and then concern. After a moment he turned to her, making her attempt with only partial success to smother her mirth. "Leslie, please," he said through a sigh.

"Sorry, Mr. Roarke," she said, coughing away some giggles. "It's just that the way she put that…just right out of the blue that way…" She gave in to some more chortling while he regarded her with disapproval. "C'mon, Mr. Roarke, the way she said it was just too funny!"

Roarke began to meander back toward the shutters, his face a mask of worry. "Unfortunately, funny or not, she has a very valid point." He seemed not to notice that he'd startled the laughter right out of her as he walked past and settled into the chair at his desk, looking lost in thought.

"Wait a minute," Leslie breathed after a couple of minutes of watching him. "Don't tell me…you're not really reconsidering letting Helen take over Nancy's—"

Roarke's expression was so incredulous that she was sorry she'd spoken. "As you so often say, my dear Leslie, you cannot be serious!"

She lifted both hands. "Okay, okay, forget I said it. It's just that you look like you're really thinking over what Helen said about life waiting to punch Nancy out."

"It's only because of Helen's attitude. She seems convinced that Miss Harvester will be an abject failure without Helen taking over her every move, and I am not certain it's wise to trust her alone with the young lady anymore. And I'm afraid Miss Harvester herself may be desperate enough to insist on that very type of drastic gesture."

Leslie pushed her hands into the pockets of her skirt. "But it's Nancy's fantasy. If Nancy decides that's what she wants, you can warn her from here to the moon and back, but it won't make her change her mind."

"Which is precisely what I fear," Roarke admitted. He and Leslie looked at each other for a long moment; then he released a very deep sigh and shook his head again. "I must admit to being grateful it's nearly time for the evening meal."

Leslie grinned. "I'll check with Mana'olana."

The sun had set by the time they finished eating, and Tattoo promptly left again, saying something about supervising the delivery of a model train set to Doña Dolores' villa for the birthday party. Roarke went out to check the progress of the luau, and Leslie stayed behind, using the opportunity to work on the three stacks of mail that had accumulated atop her guardian's desk. She was looking forward to summer; there was just one week of school left, and summer on Fantasy Island was her favorite time of the year. She usually had the weekdays to herself during summer hiatus from school, and was able to spend more time with her friends in extracurricular pursuits, while still helping Roarke and Tattoo on the weekends and being able to tell her friends on Mondays what had happened. She was humming to herself as she slit open letters and read the assorted fantasy requests.

She'd been at it for about an hour when the phone rang. "Main house," she said.

"Miss Leslie, is that you? This is Consuelo Lopez," exclaimed a frantic female voice. "Paco is missing. Is there any way you can help us find him?"

"Missing?" Leslie echoed, sitting up straight. "Well, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo are both out, but I'll be glad to help you look for him, and if we see Mr. Roarke and Tattoo, we can get them involved too. Where are you now?"

"We're about to leave Cousin Dolores' villa right now," said Consuelo.

"Okay. I'll start looking around on this side of the island. I'm sure he didn't walk that far, but we do have shuttle buses and he could have caught one of those. But I promise, we'll find him, no matter what."

Consuelo thanked her profusely, and Leslie hung up and rushed out the French shutters, taking the path off the back terrace and plunging down it, pausing now and then to shout Paco's name. After failing to get a response to her first twelve or fifteen tries, she stopped calling out and instead devoted her energy to searching the foliage. That was how she came upon Roarke standing in the path, looking gently amused. "Mr. Roarke!"

He smiled and motioned her forward, and she saw Paco Lopez curled up on a patch of grass, sound asleep. She grinned, but before she could speak, the leaves of a bush parted some yards ahead of them, and Doña Dolores' face peeked out. She lit up at sight of Paco and stepped forward as though to speak, but Roarke raised a hand and shook his head. She nodded once and withdrew, watching closely as Roarke approached the sleeping boy.

"Paquito," he called softly. "Paquito?"

Paco stirred and opened his eyes, peered over his shoulder and sat up, startled and then sheepish. "I—I guess I'm in a lot of trouble for running away."

"Just a little bit," Roarke conceded, "but a man has a right to think things over. Live his own life." He moved forward and took a seat on a nearby flat stone. "Sit here, Paco." They settled down on the rock while Leslie stood nearby, alternately watching them and Doña Dolores. "Tell me something," Roarke inquired, "don't you like it here?"

"Oh yes," Paco said while Leslie wondered where this question had come from. "I love it here. I'd rather be here than anywhere else in the whole world."

"Well, then, why are you running away?" inquired Roarke, and Leslie saw him flick a glance at Doña Dolores. "This could be your new home." Leslie stared at him in surprise; how had he known Paco was running away and why he was doing it? She supposed her guardian's knowledge of things he hadn't been told should no longer astound her as it did, but it annoyed her not to know how he did it.

"Without my mamá and papá?" Paco protested, as though wondering why he should have to ask this. Behind her bush, Doña Dolores looked stunned, on the verge of tears.

"You just said that you'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world," Roarke reminded the boy.

"But Señor Roarke, if my mamá and papá don't have me, they're not a family. And they'll be sad and lonely. Just like Doña Dolores." Dolores' eyes had filled with tears that sparkled in the moonlight; she had begun to shake her head just slightly. Roarke cast her a quick sympathetic glance before speaking to Paco again.

"Don't you feel sorry for her, Paco?" he asked gently.

"Oh, she's a very nice lady. But…she is not my mother." Leslie shifted her weight, discomfort at Dolores' obvious distress getting to her. Strangely, she could see both Dolores' and Paco's viewpoints. Roarke looked up at Dolores then, and both he and Leslie could see that she'd gotten the point.

Roarke hugged the boy close for a moment, patting his head, then smiled and offered, "Suppose Leslie and I take you back to Doña Dolores' house. You need your sleep; after all, you have a very big day tomorrow, and you wouldn't want to miss that."

Paco smiled. "No, I can't wait! Please, take me back to my mother and father. I want to get lots of sleep."

Dolores had disappeared back the way she must have come, and Leslie was full of questions. She did manage to refrain from asking, which got silent approval from Roarke, and she was rewarded by what happened after that. While Manuel and Consuelo tucked Paco into bed, she and Roarke stood at the foot of the bed with Dolores, looking on while Paco murmured, "I'm sorry to scare everybody. But Señor Roarke said…a man has to _think things over."_ He said this with an emphasis that brought smiles from them all.

Roarke smiled and nodded firm agreement with him, and Dolores went to the bedside, stepping in between Consuelo and a hard-faced Manuel. "Tomorrow," she promised the child, "you will have a birthday party you will never forget. And afterwards, you will go home with your parents."

"Thank you for having me," Paco said, beaming up at her.

Dolores smiled, clearly in love with the little boy. "Oh…you are so welcome." She leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead, then started for the door.

"Doña Dolores…" the boy began.

She paused and turned. "Yes, Paquito?"

"I'm sorry that you have to be alone." Paco's face reflected genuine sadness.

The innocent statement hit a nerve; Dolores tensed, cast Roarke one look that he returned with sympathy, and then walked rapidly out of the room. Roarke looked thoughtful for a moment, while he and Leslie watched Manuel and Consuelo kiss their son good night and settle him down. Then, when they had left the room and closed the door, Roarke took Consuelo aside as Manuel stalked down the hall to the room he shared with her. "Señora Lopez, might I speak with you in private for a few moments?"

"Of course, señor," Consuelo said in surprise. "Maybe outside is best."

Roarke agreed, and motioned Leslie along with him while they went out to the patio, where the wedding reception was still going strong after many hours and showed no signs of slowing down. They sat on the low brick wall, and Roarke leaned forward. "Uh, Señora Lopez, when you wrote and told me that in addition to giving your son a birthday party at a fine hacienda, you also had another fantasy…I warned you that the second one might fail."

She looked startled. "All I hoped for was that his cousin might help us get back on our feet, once and for all."

Roarke nodded. "You knew that your husband had avoided her for years."

"Yes, but I didn't know he hated her," Consuelo said unhappily.

"Oh, he doesn't hate her. He is simply frustrated and embarrassed by his poverty. He is desperate to hang onto every last vestige of his pride—to honor his role as husband and father." He smiled faintly; he could see a light dawning in her eyes.

"Vanity," Consuelo breathed.

"I beg your pardon?" said Roarke curiously.

"That's what it is. I didn't realize he was vain."

"Oh? Well, perhaps you are right…but even though you are a very lovely woman, señora, do you not sometimes worry that you are less desirable to him? Hm? Well," he said, noting her new surprise, "he is only a man, who is afraid of being less of a man in your eyes. You see, a certain amount of vanity plays a role in all our lives. Take it away from him, and you may destroy him." This seemed to leave Consuelo speechless, and he smiled gently. "Think about it, señora. I will bring Leslie back for the party tomorrow; she has managed to gather several of her friends who have younger siblings who will be happy to attend Paquito's party."

"Thank you, señor," Consuelo murmured and stood up. "Good night…and thank you, señorita." This she addressed to Leslie before walking quietly away, head down.

In the car Leslie said, "I don't know how you do that. You realized Paco was running away, without him actually telling you that. How did you know?"

Roarke only smiled. "Any child lying asleep on a jungle path at night is obviously somewhere he shouldn't be, wouldn't you say?" Disgusted with this non-answer, Leslie snorted, earning herself a grin and a silent, amused huff from Roarke.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - May 23, 1981

It was approaching ten o'clock when they finally reached the main house, but Roarke wanted to make a check on Nancy Harvester's fantasy, and Leslie insisted on going, still not tired enough to sleep. "Maybe the walk will help wear me out," she suggested.

"You do have a logical excuse for nearly anything when it suits you, don't you?" said Roarke, not without affection. He smiled and gestured. "Come along, then."

They had been wandering for close to twenty minutes when they heard voices, one male and one female, in the near distance. Not till they could see Helen standing around a bend in the path did they finally hear actual words, and the voice was that of Nancy Harvester. "And you're a great one for sticking close to the money, aren't you?"

"Now wait a minute," growled a male voice, and in the clearing below they saw Gene Jefferson stand up to glare at Nancy.

"Forget it," she snapped and fled the clearing. Roarke and Leslie joined Helen then, and he peered at her with a somewhat jaundiced look.

"How long have you been standing here?" he asked sternly.

"Not long," she replied, sounding serene.

"Oh?" Both eyebrows flew up with apparent skepticism.

Helen looked smug. "You thought I'd disobeyed your orders and possessed her body, didn't you?" Roarke started to say something, but she cut him off. "Don't answer. She has been on her own from the moment she left the bungalow. I simply…suggested that I would be along, the way a mother sends her child to school for the first time."

Just then Nancy Harvester, looking quite unlike her normal self in a strappy purple satin dress, came running in their direction and pulled up short when she saw them there. "Oh, hi…Mr. Roarke…Helen…Leslie."

"Forgive us for disturbing you, Miss Harvester," said Roarke, at which point they heard Gene Jefferson calling out Nancy's name not far away. Nancy looked alarmed, but didn't move from the spot.

"Miss Harvester," Roarke went on, "I am terribly sorry that your fantasy turned out badly. It's my fault; I urged you to accept it."

Nancy let her head fall forward for a moment, then sighed a little. "Badly? Oh no, Mr. Roarke. My uncle wanted me to catch up on life quickly, and the Gene Jeffersons of this world are a big part of it."

Helen beamed and stepped forward to press a kiss to Nancy's cheek. "You will do very well in life," she predicted with pride.

Nancy smiled. "Well, now that I've learned how to begin living, I will. Thank you, Helen; thank you, Mr. Roarke." She met Leslie's gaze, and her smile became a grin. "And thanks for giving me the courage to let Helen do what she needed to do." Leslie grinned back and ducked her head. Nancy chuckled; then something seemed to occur to her and she focused on Helen once more. "Helen, were you with me…I mean, like, the whole time?"

"Do you mean, did she possess you before?" Roarke prompted. Helen began to speak, but got out no more than "Well…" before Roarke continued, cutting her off. "Miss Harvester, I assure you, there is a bit of Helen—Trask…" At this, Roarke and Helen traded a certain look. "…in every woman. And—"

"Nancy?" This time Gene Jefferson's voice was much closer, and a second later he came around the bend in the path.

"Please, young man—" Roarke began, annoyed.

But Gene raised a hand to stop him. "Please, Mr. Roarke, I…I know how I acted. But I was walking away, and suddenly I asked myself, why're you walking away from her? Nancy, would you talk to me?"

"I'm busy," said Nancy icily.

Gene appealed to their host. "Mr. Roarke, would you ask her to talk to me?"

After a few seconds' pause, Roarke nodded at Nancy, who gave way to his advice and turned to face Gene with arms folded over her chest. "Well?"

"In front of them?" he asked, glancing at Roarke, Helen and particularly Leslie.

"Are you ashamed of what you have to say?" Helen inquired, very sweetly.

That stung, Leslie saw, and Gene drew himself up straight, a flare of courage lighting his eyes for a moment. "No, I am not!" He addressed Nancy. "Nancy, I'm crazy about you. I was always crazy about you. But suddenly I'm walking away from you—again, like I did back home!"

She glared at him in disbelief. "Is that what you came back to say to me?"

"I love you," Gene declared fervently. "That's what I came back to say."

Nancy, her face filled with frigid skepticism, eyed her companions sidelong. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Well, he, uh…seems sincere…don't you think so, Helen?" Roarke remarked.

"The relationship has its possibilities," Helen mused, and Roarke nodded.

"I have a question," Leslie spoke up, and her hesitant voice drew everyone's attention, making her flinch slightly before she cleared her throat and scraped her courage together. "Mr. Roarke and I saw you when Nancy here first realized you were on the island. You sure didn't have much to say to her then. You were running around with two other girls at the same time, and you kind of just brushed her off. But now that she looks like a siren, all of a sudden you're in love with her. Sure is a big change."

Nancy hid a snicker behind one hand; Helen looked surprised, and Roarke regarded her a little reproachfully. "Leslie, isn't that a bit harsh?"

"She's got a point, Mr. Roarke," Gene said. "But honestly—I really was in love with her then. I…just didn't know how to talk to her. She's so smart, all bookish and well-read, and I…didn't feel like I measured up. The way she looks now…well, at least for me, it made it easier for me to approach her. But I love the real Nancy, no matter what she looks like."

Leslie studied him, and Helen and Roarke both leaned over a little, waiting for her verdict. Finally Roarke prompted, "Well, Leslie, does that satisfy you?"

She shrugged and said, "Well, like you said, he does seem sincere."

Having gotten the seal of approval from all three, Nancy returned her gaze to Gene, and a little smile thawed the ice in her eyes. "Let's talk," she said, and with that she and Gene left arm in arm. Nancy cast one grateful glance back at them, and Leslie waved after her.

Roarke looked quite pleased. "Ah, Lady Helen, I have never doubted that behind your abundance of guile and self-interest lies the honor of a noble woman." Helen beamed at that, and took Roarke's arm in hers, patting it and watching Gene and Nancy stroll away.

§ § § - May 24, 1981

About eleven-thirty, Leslie's friends and their excited younger siblings gathered in front of the main house; despite what Leslie had said, Taro and Tomi Sensei both held wrapped gifts, as did Reiko Tokita. Even Adrian McCormick, who was notorious among Leslie's friends for the way he tended to torment his older sisters, held up a large mesh bag full of die-cast metal cars. "Hey, Leslie, look," he said. "These are for the birthday kid. My mom's been bugging me forever to clean out my toy chest, and I have tons of these, so I packed up twenty of 'em for a present."

"Wow," said Leslie, turning to Lauren.

Lauren shrugged. "Just when we think the kid's totally irredeemable, he turns around and does something nice," she said. "But maybe you'd better warn the birthday boy's mom to keep a close eye on him or he'll eat all the cake and ice cream."

Camille snorted. "Not if the quads here get to it first." The four toddlers were either chasing each other around the lane or, in Julianne's case, climbing onto the side of the fountain, which had Camille sprinting after her. "No, you turkey, get off there!"

"Aren't they kind of young for a party like this?" Michiko asked doubtfully.

"That's why we're there," said Camille with a sour look at her. "To keep them in line. Mom wouldn't let them go until I told her you and I and Leslie and Lauren and Myeko were gonna be at the party too." The girls laughed and began to corral kids and cram them into the rover Leslie would be driving down to the villa.

Roarke and Tattoo appeared after a minute or so and paused to watch Leslie and her friends trying to organize the younger children; then Tattoo laughed and pitched in, keeping the quads amused while Camille, Leslie, Lauren and Myeko each took a quad and buckled him or her in on the lap of an older child. Michiko sat up front with Julianne on her lap and Reiko squeezed in between her and Leslie; Camille sat in the middle seat with Jonathan on her lap, crammed in with Deborah holding Jennette and Lauren holding Jeremy; and Sayuri, Taro, Tomi and Adrian clambered into the back with Myeko to supervise them. Roarke shook his head at the sight. "I wasn't sure you'd all fit," he teased.

"We don't," shouted Leslie, Lauren, Michiko, Camille and Myeko in chorus, and he loosed a hearty laugh before heading for the waiting jeep with Tattoo.

Some twenty minutes later, Leslie's friends gasped in amazement when they reached the shining Spanish villa. "Holy cow," said Myeko. "I've never been in this neighborhood."

"I didn't even know it was here," Camille admitted.

"It's a private driveway, I think," said Leslie, parking behind the jeep. "Mr. Roarke says Doña Dolores has lived here for years all by herself, except for a few servants. Her maid and her valet, Elena and José, got married this weekend, and today's Paquito's birthday—he's her cousin's little boy—so she's got tons of company and excitement for a change."

"Well, then, bring it on," said Lauren, and they laughed and piled out of the car, ganging around Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie. The valet, José, emerged from the house and stopped short at sight of the group.

"_¡Ay caramba!"_ he exclaimed playfully, eliciting more laughter. "Paco will have many new friends today, won't he? Please, everyone, follow me."

Inside an enormous dining room, the boys and Reiko added their presents to a pile of gifts that stunned the older girls by its sheer size; Roarke brought Paco and his parents over to introduce them to Leslie's friends and explain who the younger children were. Paco, once introduced to the Sensei twins, dismissed everyone else and fell into an instant friendship with Taro and Tomi; Adrian refused to be left out of the fun, and before Camille could get a good grip on all four quads, she promptly lost Jonathan and Jeremy to the little gang. Jennette and Julianne broke away, not wanting to be left out, and Camille threw her hands in the air. "At least they're all gonna have a good time."

The adults laughed. "Thank you for coming and for bringing your friends and their siblings," Consuelo Lopez said warmly to Leslie. "Mr. Roarke, is everyone here?"

"I believe we can start the party whenever you're ready," said Roarke.

After a moment's consultation with Doña Dolores, the party did get under way, and for a while the adults just let the children play to get some of the energy out of their systems before gathering them all together and seating them around the long table. Pitchers of orangeade and lemonade, a large rectangular sheet cake, and several gifts had been placed on the tabletop, and there were enough places set with colorful paper plates, napkins and cups to accommodate eight kids. The adults and the other girls stood around the table while José and Elena managed to round up four high chairs for the quadruplets.

Paco wasted no time tearing into the gifts, while Tattoo brought him new ones as he opened the first few. Every time he revealed some new treasure, the guests applauded him; his face got brighter and brighter with every moment. His parents were beaming, and Doña Dolores looked to be in her element.

When Paco had unwrapped a small model train set of his own, Roarke gestured to the overlooked stack still waiting in the corner and said, "Also in that pile are presents from people you've met since you arrived on Fantasy Island." Paco exclaimed in delight, and his parents smiled, though Manuel's looked a bit strained. "And Doña Dolores and I have an extra-special surprise for you."

"Is it something to eat?" Paco exclaimed hopefully.

Doña Dolores scolded playfully, "You'd better not try!" Roarke chuckled with her.

Manuel went to his son's chair and pulled it away from the table. "Why don't you open this door, Paco, and find out," he said.

Paco got to his feet and pulled aside the double doors leading out of the dining room. "A pony!" he shrieked, overjoyed. "Mine?" Again the guests began to applaud; Leslie and her friends looked at one another in amazement.

"This is a poor little kid from Mexico?" Myeko murmured. "Geez, he's gonna be richer than his parents by the time this party's over."

"It was his mother's fantasy for him to have the best birthday ever," Leslie said, "and he's sure getting it." They watched the younger children join Paco in fawning over the pony, with Tattoo in their midst stroking the pony's nose to keep it calm. José lifted Paco onto the saddle on the pony's back.

"If I was staying, everybody could have a ride!" Paco sang out gleefully.

"Staying?" Michiko echoed.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you tomorrow," Leslie promised.

Roarke stepped forward, refocusing their attention on the adult gathering while the children's excited voices faded away as José and Tattoo took them all outside with the pony. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "Doña Dolores has something to say to you."

Doña Dolores smiled around the group. "My friends, you all know how difficult it has been for me to run this large ranch since my husband's death. My dear cousin Manuel has graciously consented to move over here to the hacienda and take over the running of my property—which in the end will be his property, so he might as well start sweating over it!" She chortled as the guests laughed at her joke; Consuelo was smiling broadly, and even Manuel looked happy, laughing as the guests applauded once more.

The whack of a stick drew their attention; the kids had come back inside and begun attacking the party piñata. Paco got in the defining blow, and a small avalanche of candy spilled out. The kids swarmed in on it as the adults gathered in the doorway, and Roarke winked at Leslie before remarking, "Of all the happiness to behold, my dear friends, that is perhaps the most joyful."

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie, beset with demands from her friends to fill them in on everything about the Lopezes the next day, flopped into a club chair early that afternoon, filled with hearty Mexican food, cake, ice cream and punch. "Wow," she said, blowing out a long breath. "That was really some party, Mr. Roarke. I don't think I'll have room for supper tonight."

"I was surprised you had any cake or ice cream, since Lauren's brother managed to take more than his fair share," Roarke teased.

"It just looked that way," Leslie said, grinning at him. "Every time Adrian got another piece, Lauren would wait till Paco or some other kid distracted him, and then steal it from him and give it to somebody who hadn't had any yet. That's how I got mine."

"Indeed!" said Roarke through a laugh and settled down behind the desk. "You and your friends came through beautifully today, Leslie, and I thank you for all the generous assistance you've given me, since Tattoo has been so involved with the setup and breakdown of the birthday party. You've earned a rest, so if you like, take an hour or two and do whatever you wish."

"I think I'll just sit right here and let my lunch digest," Leslie said, and he chuckled and pulled out a red leather folder, opening it to reveal a single page upon which he began to write. Leslie folded her hands over her stomach and let her head fall back, closing her eyes.

"So lovely here," a female voice observed after a while, and Leslie sat up in surprise while Roarke closed the folder and put the pen away. Helen wandered into the room, gazing around. "It reminds me of the gardens of Troy before the siege."

Roarke checked his watch and pulled open a drawer to put away the folder. "It's time to go," he said briskly.

"Oh no, not yet," Helen contradicted. "You granted me a wish."

"He did?" Leslie asked, and she nodded firmly.

"Oh," Roarke murmured, reminded, and arose to round the desk and join them. "Indeed I did, that's right! And you deserve it." His expression became slightly guarded. "What shall it be?" Leslie wondered if he was afraid of what Helen might ask!

But Helen surprised her completely. "The same wish it always was," she said, gazing at Roarke with wistful eyes. "To be with you. To be yours forever."

Roarke smiled, gentle regret on his face, and took her hand. "My dear, you are femininity perfected. Oh, if only it could be. But…we both know no man will ever possess Helen of Troy—not even I. That is why you have remained as you are throughout the ages: belonging to al men—and all women." He raised her hand and kissed it. "You are indeed timeless."

Helen glided forward and rested her cheek against his, murmuring, "You'll need me again, my dear, and I shall be ready." She drifted across the room and let herself into the time-travel room, laughing. Roarke watched her go, dark eyes twinkling.

Leslie, who'd been watching speechless the whole time, pushed herself out of the chair and shook her head. "Geeeeeeeez, Mr. Roarke," she complained, "they all have a thing for you, don't they? What is it with you, anyway?"

He met her gaze and inquired mischievously, "What's the matter, Leslie, are you afraid you may end up with a stepmother one day?" He enjoyed a good laugh at the dirty look she awarded him and slipped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing.

§ § § - May 25, 1981

The first car brought the Lopez family and Doña Dolores, who stepped out of the car and beamed at their hosts. Manuel reached out to shake Roarke's hand. "What can I say, señor?" he asked with a broad smile, looking truly happy and content for the first time.

"Your faces say it all, Señor Lopez," Roarke assured him.

"Now you go on back to Durango," Doña Dolores instructed, "and sell that place of yours as soon as possible. I don't want your wife and child crying all over me out of loneliness—there has been enough of that in our family."

Manuel nodded solemn agreement, then accepted Consuelo's kiss and bent to hug his son. "Take care of Mama," he said. Thanking his hosts, he stepped around the others and picked up the suitcase that stood nearby, then paused long enough to accept a warm hug from his cousin before smiling farewell and heading for the docking ramp.

"Tattoo, Mr. Roarke, and Leslie, would you come and visit us?" Paco asked brightly. "Especially you, Leslie! You brought me lots of new friends!"

Leslie grinned, but before either she or Roarke could speak, Doña Dolores said, "Of course they will! Come on." She urged Paco back into the car; Consuelo smiled, nodded her own thanks and joined her son and cousin-in-law.

"Boss," Tattoo said as the car pulled away, "that family got a good deal."

"Well, I simply took your advice, Tattoo." At the Frenchman's puzzled look, Roarke reminded him, "Well, you did say to give them the first-class treatment, did you not?" Tattoo beamed and nodded, and they watched a second rover pull up with Nancy Harvester and Gene Jefferson.

"Miss Harvester, you look…enchanting," Roarke said. Nancy was clad in a pretty peach-colored strapless dress with a tiered straight skirt, and her hair was mostly straight but with curly ends; she looked more like a balance between her old self and the new self that Helen had given her.

Nancy grinned. "Suddenly I'm starting to believe it."

"And you, Mr. Jefferson," Tattoo observed, "look like you are your own man at last."

Gene wore a gigantic grin that should have split his chin off the rest of his face. "Nancy makes me feel like I've never felt before. It's…magic."

"It's thanks to you, Mr. Roarke," Nancy said, "and to Helen Trask. Who was she really?"

Roarke and Leslie exchanged one glance before Roarke said as if she hadn't spoken the question, "Enjoy much happiness, Miss Harvester, Mr. Jefferson."

"Oh, we will." Nancy smiled at Gene. "I'm down from that second-story window for good." Roarke smiled broadly at that, and they all shook hands and said their goodbyes.

"Boss," Tattoo said suddenly as Gene and Nancy retreated up the docking ramp, "can you fix me up with her?"

Roarke stared at him. "Miss Harvester?"

"She's already taken, in case you hadn't noticed," Leslie said.

"No!" Tattoo blurted, rolling his eyes. "Helen of Troy!"

"Oh…well, you're asking a great deal, Tattoo. Helen of Troy is a lot of woman to handle. Perhaps later."

"Okay, I can wait." Then something occurred to him. "How much later?'

"Oh, give me a reminder, say…two or three hundred years from now," Roarke said in a nonchalant tone and raised an arm for the final farewell wave. Tattoo nodded; then he caught himself while Leslie watched and gave Roarke a very strange look that made the latter grin broadly and catch a chortle before it escaped. Leslie didn't even bother holding back her amusement, which fortunately Tattoo joined in.

§ § § - June 21, 2007

"That was quite a turnaround for Tattoo," Christian remarked, laughing. "From 'oh no, not her again!' to 'Can you fix me up with her?' I wonder what changed his mind?"

"Oh, we all knew he wasn't serious about it," Roarke said, "not when he had Solange. In any case, we haven't had occasion to call upon Lady Helen's help since that time—until now. And this one, I must say, is going to be a tremendous challenge."

"Helen won't see it that way, I bet," Leslie offered. "She's been involved in enough of these tough makeovers, she probably thinks of it as a fun hobby."

Roarke chuckled. "Undoubtedly. However, I think even this one will give her pause."

"That bad?" Leslie asked, trading a surprised look with her husband.

Roarke nodded, his levity fading as he gazed at the name written on the next day's date in his date book. "If you think Nancy Harvester was sheltered, wait until you meet tomorrow's guest."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - June 22, 2007

Christian shook his head at Leslie as he pulled up in front of the main house to drop her and the triplets off. It was still only a little after six, and the children were sound asleep in their car seats, as they usually were during this routine, even at the advanced age of three. "You haven't stopped thinking about that fantasy Mr. Roarke told you about since…well, since he told you about it," he complained lightly.

Feeling a bit sheepish, she looked up and shrugged while he parked and cut the engine. "Maybe because he made it sound so ominous. Like we've got a hopeless case coming in, and not even Helen of Troy can do anything about it."

"You never know," said Christian. "There's such a thing as being too pessimistic, my Rose. You might find once you've talked to this guest that you overestimated the difficulty of the problem. Come on, we need to get these three inside so you can meet Mr. Roarke for breakfast before you go to the plane dock."

"I hope you're right," Leslie murmured, swinging her feet out of the car and ducking into the back to unbuckle Susanna from her car seat. The little girl stirred and blinked awake as Leslie was removing the upper restraint that snapped into place over the child's abdomen. "We at G'ampa's house?" she asked and yawned.

"We sure are, sweetie," Leslie said. "Haruko will be here soon and you can sleep till she comes over."

Susanna rubbed her eyes and stretched out her arms to Leslie; all three children were still very much up for hugs and being held, and Karina still liked to be carried everywhere, if she managed to persuade her parents to do it. "Going bye-bye?"

"Yup, with Grandfather to meet our new guests," Leslie said, lifting her out of the seat and setting her on the ground. Susanna yawned again and stretched, exactly the way she had seen Christian do it on countless occasions; Leslie grinned at the sight before reaching into the middle to start loosening Karina's restraints. She was forced to carry Karina, since the child didn't even twitch, much less wake up.

"Did it again, did she?" Christian noted with a grin, seeing Leslie's resigned look as she hefted Karina into a more secure position against her shoulder. "Most days I'm inclined to wake her up just to get her to walk."

Leslie grinned at that. "It's tempting, I'll tell you that." Christian chuckled, bringing a sleepy Tobias around the back end of the car by one hand. "Come on, Susanna."

In a few minutes the triplets were back in slumberland in Leslie's old room, and their parents had retreated downstairs, where Roarke was already working at his desk. Christian pulled his keys out of his pants pocket and leaned over to kiss his wife. "Well, then, I'm off to the office to see if I can get ahead on some repair projects. Have a good day, my Rose, and don't forget what I said." She smiled and watched him walk out.

"What did he say?" Roarke asked while Leslie made herself comfortable in one of the leather chairs.

"He told me to try not to put so much emphasis on the problem with this guest you told us about last evening," she said, letting her head rest against the high back of the chair. "It sounds as if this person is a complete loss. For that matter, the way you talked about it, I have to wonder why you're even granting the fantasy."

Roarke met her gaze and reproached gently, "No one is ever completely beyond help, Leslie. Some are more stubborn and difficult than others, granted—but that doesn't mean it's impossible to get through to them. Has it been so long since Lady Helen was here that you've forgotten what a way she has about her?"

"Well, you did say she failed with Marie Antoinette," Leslie pointed out.

"Everyone is entitled to one mistake, as Lady Helen herself would be the first to tell you," Roarke remarked, half-smiling. "Although it was a costly one indeed. Still, the queen herself was more to blame for her ultimate fate than anyone else." He cleared his throat. "It's time we had a little breakfast before we leave to greet our latest guests."

After the morning meal, Roarke retreated inside long enough to tie up a few last-minute loose ends while Leslie finished her juice and glanced into the sky. For once, her timing was impeccable: the drone of the charter plane rose above the cacophony of avian calls, and she watched it soar across the sky. She hurried to the post installed for Lawrence more than two decades before and pressed the button to ring the bell, glancing at the tower and thinking out of the blue that someone ought to get up there and see how much guano needed to be cleaned out of it. The idea was enough to make her grimace as she crossed the veranda to join Roarke. He saw it and looked askance at her. "Are you all right?"

"How long's it been since the bell tower was cleaned out?" she wondered idly as the rover pulled up to take them to the plane dock. "I'll bet nobody's gone up there since the last time Tattoo ran up to ring the bell. Can you imagine how many thousands of birds must have built nests and left…um, deposits up there?"

Roarke stared at her. "If it bothers you so much, perhaps you yourself should go up and investigate," he invited her. "Truly, Leslie Susan, you seem to have a low opinion of my maintenance priorities. While I'll admit that very few people like to take on the job more than twice, I do have someone go into the tower every three months or so to clean out whatever mess may be there."

"Oh, well, that's good," she said and winked. "Wouldn't want anything to tarnish the image." She laughed at his dirty look and settled into the rover's middle seat; Roarke got into the front and signaled the driver ahead.

At the dock, Roarke buttoned his jacket while Leslie straightened hers, and called for smiles, giving the band its signal to begin playing. Four native dancing girls swung into action, swaying their hips in a classic Hawaiian hula, while two men playing ukuleles and another keeping time on bongo drums provided musical accompaniment.

"You may recognize this name, Leslie," Roarke said, watching a middle-aged, gray-bearded man striding down the dock, shrugging aside the leis. He paused long enough to take stock of the drinks on one of the trays before picking the one that looked the most potent and stepping off onto the ground. "Mr. Andrew Carson Rollins, of Aspen, Colorado, known to his very few friends as 'A.C.'."

"Rollins? From Aspen? He's not related to that insane ski tycoon, is he?"

"Yes, he's the son of J. Anderson Rollins," her father confirmed. "Mr. Rollins passed away five years ago, as you may remember, and he was his father's sole heir. It seems, however, that the junior Mr. Rollins has inherited not only his father's fortune, but his eccentricities as well."

Leslie groaned aloud. "Don't tell me. His fantasy is to be a cat."

"No, not a cat, nor any other animal," Roarke said, amused at her reaction. "What he does want is to find his father, in whatever guise the elderly man may have assumed upon his death—be it a cat or anything else."

"Why?" Leslie asked, befuddled through and through.

"He misses the old man very much, and would like to have him nearby…if, indeed, the senior Mr. Rollins actually was reincarnated. And there is much debate on that subject. So we must answer the question of whether J. Anderson Rollins has in fact come back, and if so, as what." Roarke grinned outright at Leslie's disgusted expression, then looked back to the seaplane's hatch. She was startled at the total transformation in his face. "The guests you have been dreading," he said with only a touch of irony; there was too much concern in his voice. Leslie looked around in time to behold two women stepping out onto the dock; one was smartly dressed in a floral-print blouse and crisp white shorts, while the other was clad in a dingy gray T-shirt and ancient, faded jeans, baggy on her slender frame. The first woman's hair was a polished mahogany shade and cut in a cap that neatly framed her face; the second had so much wild, unruly hair that her face was almost invisible. "Mrs. Janet Littleton and her younger sister, Ivy Krakowski, who come from Green Bay, Wisconsin. The fantasy is Mrs. Littleton's; she wishes, once and for all, for Miss Krakowski to be brought out of her shell."

"That just sounds like something all outgoing people say about shy ones," Leslie said with a frown; she herself had had similar sentiments expressed about her when she was a child, particularly before she had been orphaned. "I can't understand why everyone seems to think that introverts have to be cured of it, like it's some contagious disease."

"The problem here is that Miss Krakowski is so introverted that her sister seems to think she is on the verge of becoming agoraphobic. She makes no effort to go out and make friends or meet people. Even her job is solitary; she works at home as a medical transcriptionist and refuses to have face-to-face contact with people, insofar as she is able to control that. She deals with people only when she has no other choice."

"That's still not a crime," said Leslie. "It may be a hindrance, but no one's ever been arrested for being scared of people."

Roarke, gaze intent on Ivy Krakowski, shook his head. "I don't think it's fear," he said slowly. "I believe it's worse than that. It may take more than one entity to bring her out of her malady." On Leslie's questioning look, he accepted his glass of champagne and raised it in the weekly toast, which was returned with enthusiasm by Andrew Carson Rollins, with almost desperate hope by Janet Littleton, and not at all by Ivy Krakowski. In spite of herself, Leslie was intrigued, and couldn't wait to hear her story.

‡ ‡ ‡

It turned out that Andrew Carson Rollins had made Roarke's and Leslie's jobs a little easier by having put out the word—attached to a very generous reward—that he was looking for any animal that might show characteristics of his late father; moreover, he'd chosen five finalists out of the hundreds of assorted house pets that had been paraded before him, and those five were now on the island with their owners. Leslie, who remembered having welcomed several folks with pets around the time of the triplets' birthday, now realized what that had been all about, since normally, pet owners were encouraged to leave their animals at home due to the stringent restrictions Roarke had had put in place some years before. "What makes you so sure one of these animals is your father?" she asked.

"I've seen them," Rollins told her. He didn't have a cane to plant on the floor with a loud, commanding thud as his father had had; but he did have the same almost fanatical look in his pale-blue eyes, that of a man who gets what he wants, sooner or later. "When you see them, you'll understand what I mean."

"Why is it so important to you to have your father so close by?" Roarke asked.

Rollins shifted in his chair, looking uncertain of himself for the first time. "Well…I don't want this getting around, y'see, but…I need Dad's advice. It's overwhelming, trying to run all his resorts on my own."

"That's why you go out and hire qualified resort managers," Leslie informed him.

"I don't even know how to do that," Rollins said, throwing his hands into the air. "They say you're supposed to ask candidates lots of tough, ridiculous questions designed to find out if they have an aptitude for the job, but I wouldn't know the first thing to ask. I'm just completely at a loss, and Dad didn't exactly leave detailed instructions for operating his properties. So I need some help."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; then Roarke inquired, "Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Rollins, that if your father has in fact been reincarnated as a house pet somewhere, it will be impossible for you to communicate with him for the advice you seek?"

Rollins squirmed in his chair. "Yeah, I know, I know…I'm not exactly Dr. Doolittle. But I'm desperate."

"That, I believe," Leslie murmured. It took some deep, astonishing desperation to resort to searching for one's deceased father in the hope he'd been reincarnated!

Roarke glanced at her but let it pass. "We shall attempt to ascertain whether any of the pets you have observed is your father in his current incarnation," he said, "presuming that he has one. I can make no guarantees, Mr. Rollins."

"Then why'd you grant my fantasy, if you don't even know anything about it?" Rollins demanded. "You said—"

"I said we would do our utmost," Roarke told him. "I would not have done so under normal circumstances, but I received letters from two of the pet owners you chose as, uh, finalists, pleading with me to grant your fantasy so that they would know once and for all if their pets' oddities can be explained. My daughter suggested that perhaps I was fated to make the attempt, after all…" This he said with a sidewise look of high disapproval at Leslie, who merely shrugged. "She also reminded me that I was able to understand the sounds your father made when he came here to experience existence as a cat, twelve years ago."

"Well, you did," Leslie said, driven to respond under the pressure of what this time was a very pointed stare. She turned to Rollins. "Your father took a potion that turned him into a cat for a weekend, and Father understood his meowing. So if one of these animals is your father reincarnated, he could act as interpreter for you."

Roarke looked annoyed but didn't dispute this. "One thing at a time," he said and visibly restrained a sigh before focusing on Rollins. "First we will have to meet with the pets and their owners. I'll contact them myself and set up appointments for them to come here, and I will then call you to let you know when to be here."

"Sounds like a plan," Rollins said, looking relieved. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke, I really can't tell you how grateful I am you've agreed to do this. I know it sounds insane, but I just didn't know what else to do. Thanks again." He loped out of the study.

When the door had closed behind him, Leslie shook her head. "It doesn't just sound insane, it _is_ insane. I hope he didn't tell anyone why he was really coming here."

This time Roarke did sigh. "I think it best to refrain from further comment, if you'll be so kind. We have a few minutes before Mrs. Littleton and Miss Krakowski arrive; if you wish to check on the children, by all means do so."

Leslie hurried upstairs but was back within a couple of minutes. "Haruko got here while we were at the plane dock," she said. "The kids are still asleep and she's sitting in the window seat reading some magazines. So everything's okay."

"Good," said Roarke, and at that point there was a knock on the door. Leslie, who hadn't had a chance to sit down yet, veered toward the foyer to answer it, and admitted Janet Littleton. "Good morning, Mrs. Littleton."

"Hello, Mr. Roarke…Mrs. Enstad," said the woman, smiling briefly and slipping past Leslie. "I hope I don't seem too abrupt, but I guess I'm eager to get on with it."

"That's quite all right. Please have a seat," Roarke invited. Leslie had closed the door and now followed their guest inside, settling in the other chair.

"Where's your sister?" she asked.

"In the bungalow. She wouldn't come with me; she really doesn't like to meet new people at all. To tell the truth, I was surprised." Janet Littleton slanted a glance at Leslie, but continued to address Roarke. "Ivy didn't want to come here at all and refused to budge on her decision, till I told her she could meet Prince Christian and Princess Leslie."

Leslie leaned to one side in her chair and stared at Janet with a startled look; Roarke's brows lifted. "Oh?" he prompted, very curious.

Janet's cheeks grew mottled pink. "It's more or less the only thing Ivy's shown a real interest in for…sheesh, for donkey's years. She really loves royalty, no matter where they come from." She met Leslie's gaze at last. "She's got scrapbooks full of clippings from magazines and newspapers, from anywhere she can get them. She's even bought them off eBay. Stuff about royalty from the U.K., Scandinavia, Holland, Belgium, Spain…Thailand, Japan… even African royalty, and you know how much attention first-world countries bother to pay them. So I guess you could say Ivy's a big fan of yours. It was the only way I could get her to make this trip."

"Oh boy," murmured Leslie, unsure of what she should say.

"She's no stalker, believe me," Janet hastened to assure her. "Ivy won't leave the house unless she has absolutely no other choice. It'd be too much effort for her to track your every move. She's just an ardent fan."

Leslie settled back in her chair and let out a breath. "Okay. So…other than that, why is she so reclusive?"

Janet swallowed. "She wasn't always like that. As a child she was shy, and for good reason, but at least she tried to make friends, and she had two or three close pals that she hung out with a lot. Then we moved to another state halfway across the country, and when she tried to make friends there—hard enough for a shy kid in the first place—she was rebuffed and made fun of. It drove her into a shell, and she's been there ever since."

"Many children, shy or not, are taunted and teased in their school years," Roarke observed. "Why did your sister take it so hard?"

Janet shifted in her chair. "Ivy had a…well, a disfigurement. It was bad enough in her early years, when she still had friends; but when she reached high school the taunting became incredible. By then it seemed like almost every kid in the school was picking on her. She tried to keep her head down and get through each day as unnoticed as possible, but it never worked. The more inconspicuous she tried to make herself, the worse the kids picked on her. She had no friends, and certainly never any dates, in school. Nobody wanted anything to do with her except to use her as a verbal punching bag." She sighed. "I'm nine years older, but I saw what it was doing to her every day, because I was a teacher in the school she went to. If I tried to interfere, the students simply ignored me. I remember a few kids even shooting me smug looks, as if to say they knew I was her sister and there wasn't anything I could do."

"Was there no one either you or your sister could turn to for help?" Roarke asked.

Janet shook her head. "It wasn't like it is now, when victims are encouraged to report bullies to their parents or teachers. There was no support system. The mentality was, kids will be kids, and you have to toughen up and learn to take it, since the real world is like that. Well, that may be true, but it still doesn't justify all the crap Ivy had to take. Now she's as close as she can get to being a hermit. She doesn't trust anyone. And this is the year of her twentieth high-school reunion; I knew better than to encourage her to go, even though it's safe to assume that at least some of these kids might have matured over the years."

"What high school?" Leslie asked.

"Manzanitas High…it's near Ruidoso, New Mexico. Why?"

Leslie shot Roarke a look. "Father, isn't that the school that's having their twentieth reunion here on the island this weekend?"

Janet stared at him, and he nodded. "Yes, they are."

To their surprise, Janet's face darkened with anger. "Well, that's just great, Mr. Roarke. I hope you don't tell her they're here, or you won't get her out of the bungalow the whole weekend, and she'll insist on waiting till the last one leaves before she even agrees to come out for the trip back home!"

Roarke was unperturbed. "A coincidence, Mrs. Littleton, I assure you. The attendees are staying in the hotel, and most of their activities will be confined to the resort area—the hotel, the pool, the stables and the casino, and perhaps the amusement park. You yourself pointed out that after twenty years, many of your sister's former classmates should have matured into sensible adults."

"I know that, and you know that—but Ivy wouldn't believe it for a second. I really don't know how you're going to get her out of her self-imposed isolation. Not with all her former tormentors around." Janet shook her head, her eyes losing focus for a moment. "I still remember when she graduated. She came off the stage with her diploma and was wearing the biggest ear-to-ear grin we'd ever seen—maybe the only time she smiled all the way through high school. When we asked her why, she said she was liberated, and she'd never have to come back to that place again and face all those jerks. She also announced that she was never coming to a reunion of her class, even if they had anyone left to hold a hundred-year reunion. She planned to get out of New Mexico and go back to Wisconsin, and that's exactly what she did."

"What about college?" asked Leslie. "She could have met more accepting people."

"She wouldn't go. She figured that with her luck, she'd end up attending the same college as the worst of her tormentors. When she took the course to get the job she has now, she did it as a correspondence course."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other again. "Definitely a challenge," she said.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Janet wanted to know. Before either of them could answer, she turned to Leslie. "You might as well know, you may have to play a very big part in Ivy's fantasy. Since she's so interested in you and your husband, she might actually trust you, but probably not anybody else."

"I could talk to her," Leslie said slowly, "but I honestly don't know how much good I'd do. Father has someone in mind who might be able to help Ivy out…"

"If so," Janet warned, "you're going to have to come with this person, or Ivy won't even bother saying hello." She caught herself and looked apologetically at Roarke. "I know how it sounds, and I hate to do this, but I don't see any other way. Princess Leslie will probably have to spend the whole weekend in Ivy's presence."

Roarke smiled. "If your sister's interest in my daughter and son-in-law provides an opening by which we might reach her, it's no imposition at all, Mrs. Littleton. It's part of Leslie's job in any case; she will be glad to help however she can."

Once Janet Littleton had left, Roarke took a look at the grandfather clock and nodded as if to himself. "Well, it's time again," he mused.

Leslie knew what he meant and cleared her throat. "Father, before you go…since it looks like Ivy Krakowski can be swayed only by the presence of royalty…do you think it'd help at all if I asked Christian to participate? He did want to help out with some physical repairs at his office, but I think if he heard the story…"

Roarke grinned. "I must admit, I'm surprised at your assumption that he would want to get involved in a fantasy in which he would be required to play up his station in life. But if you think it will help and he'll agree, then by all means, you may do so." He arose. "When you return, Lady Helen should be here."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § - June 22, 2007

Leslie waited till he'd gone into the time-travel room before leaving the house and taking a brisk walk along the well-worn back path into town. She usually took this path when she needed the fastest way to get there on foot; it led from the main-house terrace directly to the town square, crossing at least three other footpaths along the way. Within ten minutes she had let herself into Christian's office; his employees greeted her, but Christian himself was too deeply into a computer tower to notice her arrival.

"I see he's gone into computer fugue again," Leslie remarked, amused.

"He's on a roll, Miss Leslie," remarked Julianne. "That's already the second machine he's worked on. I thought spending more time at home with the kids would make his skills rusty, but he hasn't lost anything. I swear, the guy's a genius."

"Unfortunately, the genius in question will just have to turn his talents to other things for a while," Leslie said. "Thanks, Julianne." She settled herself into the chair on the other side of the work arm of Christian's desk and waited till he sensed her presence, and finally pulled his head out of the tower.

"Oh, so it's you," he said and smiled. "Something you need?"

She nodded. "I know you're probably not going to be too thrilled by this, but wait till you hear the situation before you start protesting." She explained the story of Ivy Krakowski as told by Janet Littleton, and Christian rested his chin on one fist while he listened, his face expressionless till she was through.

Then he frowned. "So what you're telling me is, in order to save this woman from becoming a permanent shut-in, I'm going to have to overplay my role as a prince."

Leslie shrugged, ill at ease. "I know it sounds hokey and shallow to you, but it's the only obvious opening we've got. Father's bringing in Lady Helen, but she isn't royalty, so it's us or nothing. I think it's safe to say we're Janet Littleton's last hope for her sister."

Christian sat back in his chair and let his eyes lose focus while he considered it. Then he frowned again and pinned her with a look. "As I recall, you mentioned back in May that Michiko is here for the entire summer, at Errico's urging. Are you planning to bring her into this little scheme of yours as well?"

Leslie felt her face get hot. "To be honest, I completely forgot," she confessed. "I suppose I could. But…" She cleared her throat. "Well, I had this idea on the way over here. Since your birthday's coming up on Tuesday—"

Clearly Christian anticipated her, for he sat up so abruptly that she cut herself off. "Now just a moment!" he protested.

"Oh, Christian, really!" she burst out, glanced furtively around the room and lowered her voice, though without restraining her frustration. "I know how much you hate your title and you wish people would stop paying attention to it, but you and I both know it just isn't going to happen. And besides, did it ever occur to you that maybe we give you birthday parties every year because your friends want to help you celebrate, and because Father and I and the kids love you? You throw a fit about this every year, and if you want the brutal truth, it's starting to look like ingratitude on your part. I always thought grace under fire was one of those things you were taught in your Royal Comportment classes as a kid, but I have the feeling you must have deliberately skipped those particular lessons!"

Christian gaped at her, and they sat like a pair of statues for a good minute or so, both tensed up tighter than an overwound watch. They were so still and quiet that the others in the office began to notice and stare at them with some apprehension. Only when Darius Langford asked if they were all right did they both start and look around.

Christian drew in a long breath and let it out as noisily as possible. "It looks," he said in a heavy, resigned voice, "as if I'm going to be busy elsewhere today. Anton, what do you think? Can you handle the workload here, or should I simply explain to my wife and my father-in-law that perhaps they'd better reconsider their request?"

Anton glanced at the table that held waiting repair projects, then peered around the room at the various repair specialists as if assessing who could handle what. Then he smiled and said, "I don't think it will be a problem, Christian. If we do get more than we can handle, I can always give you a call and let you know."

"I was rather hoping you'd say the opposite," Christian said with exaggerated disappointment, and his employees laughed, more to relieve the tension than because it was funny. "Well, all right. I'll be available for emergencies, of course. It just looks as though I'll be involved in my wife's business rather than my own, this weekend."

"That sounds like fun," spoke up Beth Keoki from her desk. "I wouldn't mind switching jobs for a weekend."

"Perhaps if they ever need you for any reason, you'll be called on," Christian bantered and stood up, pulling open a desk drawer. "Well enough, then, as long as everything is going all right. I've just about finished this one here, so Julianne, if you'd do me the favor of replacing the components I haven't got around to yet and then reattaching the tower housing, it'll be done and ready for its owner to pick up." He dropped keys into his pocket, shut the drawer and grabbed his thermal coffee mug. "I'll see you later, then."

Farewells drifted out the door behind them as Christian followed Leslie out, and he drove them back to the main house in silence. Once he had parked in front of a rover, he gave Leslie a long stare. "Just tell me something, do you in fact plan to bring in Michiko?"

"If I have to," she said evenly, "but Michiko is on vacation, don't forget, and she's still in mourning for her father."

"She might welcome the distraction—but," he said, raising both hands in surrender as he saw her open her mouth, "far be it from me to debate your decision. All right, all right…let's get inside and find out what we're up against."

Roarke was there with Helen of Troy when Christian and Leslie walked in; he smiled at sight of them. "Ah, good, Leslie, you've managed to talk him into it."

Helen, who looked no different at all from the way Leslie remembered her when she'd been there for Nancy Harvester's fantasy, spoke without looking away from Roarke. "As I was saying…if you'd really needed royalty that badly, I suppose I could have brought in that idiot Paris, but we're not on good terms, I'm sorry to say. It's quite lucky for us that your daughter had the good fortune to marry a prince."

"Yes, I must agree with that," said Roarke, looking amused. "Come in, you two. Lady Helen, you'll remember Leslie, of course. May I present her husband, His Royal Highness, Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö."

Helen arose and turned to face Christian and Leslie, and froze, her eyes fastening on Christian. He stared back at her, then peered at Roarke and inquired, "So this is Lady Helen, the famous Helen of Troy, you were speaking of last evening?"

"Yes, this is she," Roarke said. He noticed Helen staring. "Are you all right?"

"Oh…yes," Helen said, blinking furiously but seeming unable to take her gaze off Christian. "Great Zeus. I had no idea they were still producing such gorgeous specimens of humanity in this benighted day and age."

Leslie, seeing Christian's growing impatience, said a little nervously, "Um…Lady Helen, I hate to say this, but, well…protocol, you know?"

That finally got Helen's full attention and she cast Leslie a dangerous look. "I beg your pardon?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, Lady Helen, but Leslie is correct," Roarke said, with only a hint of apology. "As a prince, Christian is royalty, and while you are a lady, technically he outranks you. For that matter, so does Leslie."

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no," Leslie blurted at lightning speed and lifted both hands, backing off a step. "Really, you don't have to defer to me…I've got the title only because of my marriage, after all."

Helen looked only slightly mollified at this; but whatever degree of outrage she felt, it had no effect whatsoever on Christian, who by now had folded his arms over his chest and settled his stance, staring expectantly at her. "I'm waiting," he informed Helen.

"Roarke!" Helen exploded.

Before Roarke could reply, Christian spoke in icy tones. "I was given to understand that, for the purposes of this fantasy, I am required to emphasize my title. If we're really going to focus on the fact that I'm a prince, then I suggest you participate fully and wholeheartedly in the charade, for the benefit of my father-in-law's guest. Otherwise, it will be a waste of everyone's time, and I may as well resume my original plans for the weekend."

Helen spluttered, "Roarke, are you going to let him…why should he be allowed to…I…I protest _vigorously_ at this treatment!"

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other while Christian said, "Protest all you like, it doesn't change anything. Last I heard, you hadn't married Prince Paris, presumably because he kidnapped you, or do I have it wrong?"

"_Ohhhh!"_ Helen wailed, stomping once on the floor and glaring at him. He just gazed back at her, and within seconds her glare softened into helpless admiration. "I really, really hate to admit this, but you're right." She executed a flawless curtsy, smiling up at him. "Now you understand, of course, I'm capitulating only because you're so good-looking. Gracious, but you really could give Apollo a run for his money." Her gaze flicked to Leslie, her eyes widening. "I'm impressed, young lady. I stuck to Roarke's rules and gave you just the basic lessons, but look what you did with them! Caught yourself a bona-fide prince! Congratulations—it takes a _lot_ to impress me."

Leslie shook her hand, feeling a little foolish, too embarrassed to look at Christian. Roarke chuckled and came over to join them. "Well, ladies and Your Highness, shall we pay a little visit to Miss Ivy Krakowski?"

The presence of Helen and Roarke precluded Christian from voicing whatever opinions he had about all this, much to Leslie's relief; she had the nasty feeling he wanted to have it out with her, for all that he'd stepped into the role with perhaps more fervor than was strictly warranted. Anyway, he was more than a little distracted by the way Helen kept eyeing him over her shoulder as they walked to the bungalow where Ivy and Janet were staying. Leslie began to wonder if Helen had enough respect for the institution of marriage to keep her distance from Christian, no matter how enamored of him she might be.

Janet Littleton opened the door and blinked at the sight of all the visitors. "Oh…hi, Mr. Roarke. Uh, thanks for coming. Come in." She stepped aside, staring at Helen for a moment before she recognized Christian and brightened. "Oh, thank goodness."

"I beg your pardon?" Roarke inquired.

"You brought Prince Christian," Janet said, flicking glances at the prince as she spoke, as if afraid she'd actually meet his gaze should she take the good long look at him that they all knew she wanted to. "Now we can…well, we have some chance at getting Ivy to do this." She half-faced Christian, bowed rather than curtsied, then scuttled off to the bedroom at the back of the bungalow while Christian made a quiet little growl deep in his throat and planted his feet apart on the floor, hands in pockets.

Leslie recognized his disgruntled mood but refrained from saying anything about it, mostly for fear that she was the cause. Helen, however, had no such worries. "I don't see how this Ivy can possibly resist your appeal," she cooed at Christian, whose face became a mask of strained tolerance. "Just look at you! You could ask me anything in the world and I'd be but a helpless puddle at your feet. Name it and it's yours."

Christian had time for no more than an incredulous stare before Janet came out with the younger woman, head hanging so that her hair obscured whatever they might have been able to see of her face had she been looking up. "Here she is," Janet said, "my sister, Ivy. Ivy, look who's here."

Ivy Krakowski lifted her head with a reluctance that radiated through the room. All Leslie could see was a pair of oversized dark eyes glinting at them from behind the wild mane of hair. She smiled, with more hope than conviction, and was distinctly surprised to see a shy but equally hopeful smile spread across Ivy's face.

Encouraged, Leslie stepped forward and paused a few feet from the other woman. "Ivy, I'm Leslie. Welcome to Fantasy Island."

"Princess Leslie," said Ivy in wonder. Leslie had expected her voice to be wispy and high-pitched, but instead she heard a gentle, clear alto. "I'm really happy to meet you." And she performed a fluid curtsy, though she seemed to be all knees and elbows.

"I'm glad to meet you too," Leslie said. "I'd also like you to meet my husband, Prince Christian." She gestured toward Christian and looked up long enough to see him staring at her; she threw him a look that tried to cram about fifty different messages into a two-second glance before breaking eye contact with him.

Fortunately, the "grace under pressure" she had mentioned earlier came to the fore, ingrained in him through a lifetime of dealing with his fame. Christian smiled and greeted Ivy warmly, and Ivy presented him with the same curtsy she had given Leslie. "It's a real honor to meet you, Your Highness," she said.

Roarke spoke up then. "Miss Krakowski, may I also present Lady Helen Trask," he offered, while Ivy and Helen sized each other up. Ivy became instantly wary and remained so in spite of Helen's bright smile and friendly greeting. She returned the sentiments and even the smile, to an extent, but she didn't relax.

Then Ivy cleared her throat and took in all the faces watching her, including that of her sister. "Okay…what's going on here? I mean…I realize we're on Fantasy Island and all, but I don't understand why you brought the prince and princess here just to meet me. After all, I'm a nobody."

"Not so, Ivy, dear, not so at all!" Helen protested. "We are all somebody! We just have different degrees of fame, that's all."

"Well put," Roarke said, impressed, and Helen beamed. "Miss Krakowski, has your sister explained to you the reason for this trip?"

Ivy's wary mien increased. "Well, Janet did say she was afraid I was going to develop agoraphobia. I think she's being overly dramatic. I couldn't pass up the chance to meet any royalty…" Fortunately for her, she missed Christian's disgusted eye-roll. "So you're telling me there's more to it than that?" She addressed the question to Janet.

"You could say that," Janet said, looking uncomfortable but meeting Ivy's challenging stare. "You need to come out of yourself. You've let yourself become a hermit. At the rate you're going, you'll get so phobic, you won't leave the house. I don't want to see you spend your whole life just…just nursing all that hatred and resentment for what you went through in high school. It's a waste of a life."

"It's my life to waste," Ivy retorted. "It's not up to you to decide what I do with myself, Janet. I like things just the way they are." She looked around and blinked, as if just now realizing she and Janet weren't alone. "Sorry, everyone. It was good to meet you, Your Highnesses. Excuse me."

"Ivy, come on!" Janet exploded. "You can't be serious!"

"What's frightening you so about the outside world?" broke in Helen, using a soothing tone. "Why do you hate to go out?"

Ivy stopped, looking as if she wished she could just bolt, and eyed Helen for a few tense seconds before muttering, "I don't like to deal with people. They're usually rude and they're always in a hurry." She snorted. "And I hate the way they judge, especially if they think you're not living your life to their standards. You have to make some major, significant contribution to the world, or else you've just wasted your time on earth. You can't just live your life and mind your own business; you have to do something that'll make everybody sit up and take notice and admire you. Which I might not have a problem with, except that the significant thing in question usually turns out to be some hoity-toity corporate job. What's the matter with being a medical transcriptionist?"

"Nothing, as long as you like what you do," said Leslie.

Christian grinned. "I'll tell you a secret—too often, I'd rather be a lowly computer specialist than a prince."

His statement stunned Ivy; they could tell by the way she gaped at him. "Really?"

"Truly," he assured her, still grinning. "Tell me something…I understand you have a deep interest in royalty. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a princess?"

Ivy gawked, slowly lifting one hand and pushing at her mass of curls, which paid no attention to her halfhearted attempt at control and simply flopped back into her face. "I…uh, no, I…I don't know if I ever really did. I mean…I dressed up as Sleeping Beauty for Halloween once when I was a kid. That's the closest I ever got. I mean, she was a princess, right?"

Christian laughed. "True, she was. Okay, you never thought about it, but does the idea appeal to you?"

Very slowly, a smile began to spread over Ivy's face. "You know, Your Highness, now that you mention it, it kinda does."

He nodded and cleared his throat, throwing Leslie a glance she didn't have time to read before he addressed Ivy again. "My birthday is in a few days, and there'll be a party. I'd like to invite you and your sister, if you think you can stay here an extra couple of days beyond the weekend. Of course, it's up to you—after all, there will be quite a few people there, mostly Leslie's and my friends here on the island, and probably their children. But if you'd like to be there, you're more than welcome."

"Oh…wow," Ivy mumbled, overwhelmed. "I…I sure never thought I'd be invited to a royal birthday party. It'd…I'd…" She stuttered to a halt and then drew herself up straight, her face a sudden mask of dismay. "People! There'd be people at this party. I mean, there have to be people for it to be a party." She began to rapidly shake her head. "And even if I looked like a fashion model, they'd only judge me, and I'd be so out of place."

"Dear, that's where I come in," Helen said then, and Ivy stared at her.

Janet did too. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Miss Helen Trask is…shall we say, a consultant," Roarke put in then, trading a quick glance with Helen that made Leslie stifle a smile. "She is an expert on beauty and poise and self-confidence. If you are willing, she will help you acquire a new look that you'll feel comfortable with, and she can teach you to boost your own self-confidence."

"She's extremely good at her job," Leslie contributed. "I've seen her in action, and she knows what she's doing. We can just about guarantee success."

Ivy squinted skeptically at her. "Even with a hopeless case like me?"

"There's no such thing as a hopeless case," Helen said firmly. "I don't believe in just writing off a person." She approached Ivy, who watched her coming with a touch of panic in her enormous dark eyes, and gently gathered some knotted, tangled curls in her hands, lifting them away from the left side of Ivy's face and then brightening. "I knew it! I see great potential in you, Ivy. You can become a real knockout, if you'll just trust me."

Ivy wavered visibly for more than a minute, while Christian began to shift his weight and Janet looked on with increasing impatience. Finally she pushed, "Come on, Ivy, for crying out loud, we're not the only people Mr. Roarke has to see today, I'm sure."

Ivy grinned a little. "Yeah, I guess he has to worry about that strange guy on the plane this morning." She heaved in a deep breath and squeezed her eyes tight shut. "Okay…I'll do it. But only if Princess Leslie will stay."

Leslie glanced at Roarke, who nodded, and shrugged. "Sure, I'll stay."

"Wonderful," exclaimed Helen. "Now when would you like to get started? The sooner, the better, that's my motto."

"There's no time like now," Janet hinted.

Ivy made a face at her. "Knock it off, Janet. I said I'd do it." Her eyes slid to Leslie's and she smiled shyly. "I'm glad you're willing to stay. If it's okay with you, we could start right now."

"That's fine," Leslie agreed.

"Where do we begin?" Helen wondered aloud, surveying Ivy's skinny frame, leaning over a bit to look into her face, pushing at her hair as if trying to sculpt it. "My goodness…it's going to be a very involved project, no question about it."

"New clothes," Janet said decisively. "She looks like a scarecrow in someone's castoffs. I wish you'd take her clothes shopping for something that'll flatter her."

Ivy's face closed down and she stepped back from Helen with a frigid glare. "Keep it up, Janet," she warned, "and I'll call it off." She turned to Leslie with appeal in her eyes. "You see what I mean about people being judgmental? Even my own sister says these things, and she claims she wants to help me."

"I understand," Leslie said sympathetically and looked at Janet. "Mrs. Littleton, maybe the best thing you can do is to let me and Lady Helen handle Ivy for the day, and you go and relax. We have all kinds of activities here. Or if you're feeling lazy, you can always sit by the pool with a drink and a good book. Either way, let someone else worry about Ivy, and you just take it easy."

"You know, that sounds like a good idea, now that you bring it up," Janet said, with a last glance at Ivy. "Thanks. I look forward to seeing the new Ivy. Mr. Roarke, could you recommend the best places to go?"

"Of course," Roarke said, "if you'll follow me. Excuse us, please." He departed the bungalow with Janet.

Christian watched them go, then cleared his throat. "Well, then, if you ladies don't need me for anything, I think I'll get back to my office."

Helen arrested him in his tracks with one look. _"Au contraire,_ Your Highness, I think it would be a splendid idea if you stayed right here. Once we've finished with Ivy, we're going to need an expert male opinion on her new look."

Christian stared at her. "So you're telling me it's necessary for me to stay with the three of you _all day long?_ And watch _every little thing_ you do?" His eyes narrowed. "Tell me why I can't simply issue an opinion on the 'before and after' versions."

Helen thought this over. "Well," she mused, smiling foolishly at him, "I suppose you have a point there. The problem is…" Leslie watched, with the beginnings of suspicion, as she cozied up to Christian and laid hands on his chest just beneath the collar of his shirt. "I had in mind that you could offer advice as to what would attract today's man to a woman like Ivy, once she's undergone her makeover. That way, if we do something you think young men around her age wouldn't like, you can tell us before we make a mistake."

For a long moment Christian only stared dubiously at her; then he made a point of removing her hands from his chest. "If you ask me, it merely sounds like an excuse to needlessly keep me hanging around."

Leslie, who liked less and less the way Helen was acting around Christian, decided it was prudent to chip in her own two cents. "As a matter of fact, Lady Helen…I think it would really be a better idea to let him go till you need his opinion. And I suspect Ivy would like to have as few eyes as possible watching her go through this change—which, I should remind you, is a pretty drastic one, seeing as you're proposing to make her over both outside and in. So why don't we just let Christian get back to his computers, and you and I and Ivy can make a girls'-day-out of this thing?"

For the first time, Christian's look was appreciative, not to mention pathetically grateful, Leslie thought. But before she could dismiss him as too desperate, he surprised her by hiking one eyebrow at Helen and taking quick advantage of her weakness around him. "You observed earlier that I need only name what I wanted and it was mine. Well," and he smiled just a little slyly, "I'm naming it."

Helen's expression crumpled and she dropped her hands altogether, stepping back from him with a disgruntled look. "I really do need to watch what I say," she muttered to herself, aiming an annoyed stare at him. He merely widened his smile, which melted all her objections instantly. "But how can I possibly resist such appeal, in such a gorgeous package? All right, I'll call you when I need you."

"_I'll_ call him when _we_ need him," Leslie corrected pointedly, earning a surprised look from Helen and a half-stifled snicker from Christian. "Go on, Christian."

"Take your time," Christian suggested and sauntered out the door; as he let himself out, the women heard him start to whistle, something he seldom did. Leslie made a face to herself and put her attention to Ivy and Helen with a bit of effort.

"Okay, then," she said. "Ivy, it's your call. Where would you like to start?"

Ivy took leisurely moments to contemplate the question before poking at her hair with tentative fingers. "Well…maybe we could work on my hair. I've never done anything with it…though I would've liked to if it weren't for—" She caught herself and gave Helen a hard, challenging stare. "Can you honestly turn this mess into something I'd like?"

"Of course I can," said Helen with a breezy shrug. "As I said, just trust me, and you'll be a new Ivy Krakowski in no time at all."

Leslie put in, "Ivy, what do you imagine your hair looking like if it was exactly the way you always dreamed of it being?"

Ivy blushed and admitted readily to her, "I used to love the Dorothy Hamill haircut back in the 70s. Remember that? I could never wear my hair that way, though. I know nobody has that style anymore, but I like the way your hair looks, except maybe without the bangs, or with less of them. Straight and shiny, and _normal."_ The last word came out with a hard edge that made Leslie blink, but Ivy didn't seem to notice; Leslie wondered if her heavy emphasis was some sort of subconscious thing. "I want there to be enough length on it so I can—" Again she caught herself and clamped her lips together.

Leslie nodded, wondering at the implied omissions. "Okay. So you could live with having the ends trimmed, then, right?"

Ivy nodded back. "Sure. Thanks, Your Highness, I appreciate your being here."

"Well, then, suppose we get started," Helen suggested. Leslie heard a touch of resentment in her voice, but didn't mention it; she remembered how Helen had talked about cutting and curling her hair all those years ago and how she'd had to dissuade her, and couldn't entirely blame Ivy for using her, Leslie, as a mediator.

Leslie took Helen and Ivy to Deborah McCormick's hair salon, assuring Ivy that she knew this stylist very well and that Deborah always did Leslie's hair. That was good enough for Ivy, who promptly agreed to let Deborah work on her hair and sat in the nearest stylist's chair without further fuss. While Helen was asking Ivy where she wanted to go after her hair had been done, Leslie took Deborah aside and explained, "She's one of our guests, and she isn't entirely comfortable with this little venture. So whatever you do, make sure you follow her instructions as closely as you can."

"Got it, Miss Leslie," Deborah agreed. "I try never to alienate a customer." She winked, and Leslie laughed. "Okay, what's your name?"

Ivy told her, tensing up so visibly that even Helen noticed and gave Leslie an astonished look. "Zeus in his hall, she really does have trouble with people, doesn't she? Look how stiff she is!" She frowned. "You and Roarke may have given me an impossible case after all. She's done that around everyone but you and your husband. It's going to take a lot of hard work to get this one up to speed."

Leslie smiled. "If anyone can do it, Lady Helen, it's you. Come on, I thought you liked a challenge."

"Challenges are one thing," Helen grumbled, following Leslie to the row of chairs below the front window. "Impossibilities are something else."

"Shame," Leslie chided lightly, picking up a glossy magazine filled with color photos of every imaginable hairstyle from classic to crazy. "You yourself said there's no such thing as a hopeless case, which should also mean there's no such thing as impossibility." She opened the magazine while Helen growled low below her breath. "Hmm, some of these styles are really cute. Maybe I should give this to Ivy and see if she likes any of them."

Helen pounced on this with glee. "Aren't you the one who told your friend there to do exactly what Ivy tells her to? I think the young lady already has an idea in mind, so I advise you to leave well enough alone."

Leslie sighed heavily and tossed the magazine back onto the table in front of her. "I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § - June 22, 2007

Christian showed up for lunch at the main house, somewhat to Leslie's surprise; she was feeling worn-out already, mostly from the clothes-shopping spree Helen had taken her and Ivy on. Roarke greeted Christian and inquired, "Have you succeeded in completing the repair projects you intended to do?"

"All but one," Christian said with great self-satisfaction, "and I plan to work on that this afternoon, then take the rest of the day off. Perhaps I'll take the triplets down to the beach where I run sometimes, and let them play in the sand." Leslie glanced at him, her thoughts off and running, but decided to refrain from commenting, lest her fatigue loosen her tongue too much.

"Excellent," Roarke said. "Leslie tells me that Miss Krakowski's fantasy is progressing quite satisfactorily; and I have done what little is possible to do with Mr. Rollins' fantasy."

"Which is what?" Christian inquired, always interested in the fantasies, helping himself to several spoonfuls of the large "tropical garbage salad", as Mariki called it, that waited in the middle of the table.

Roarke told him about the Rollins fantasy, and Christian stilled in mid-reach, serving spoon in the air, staring. "You're not actually serious, for fate's sake."

Roarke chuckled. "It _is_ rather unorthodox, but Mr. Rollins feels at his wits' end, trying to operate his father's resorts on his own. He has evidently panicked to such an extent that he feels this is the only way he can extricate himself from his problems."

"Rollins doesn't need a fantasy, he needs a good psychiatrist," Christian said with an eye-roll, finishing filling his salad bowl. "Of course, that's only my unsolicited opinion, you understand. But I'd prefer to refrain from offering the opinion that _was_ solicited."

Now it was Roarke who paused in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your friend Helen of Troy. She seemed to feel it necessary that her budding protégée should have my opinion as well as her own and Leslie's. To tell you the truth, I find her clinging. She has a way of simpering all over me and making me feel…" He hesitated, glanced at Leslie, then shrugged and muttered, "Like a sex object."

Leslie snickered; she just couldn't help herself. Christian's nasty look prompted her to say, "Well, maybe that gives you an idea how women feel when men treat us that way."

"Did you think I have no sympathy for how some men think women are nothing more than convenient knickknacks? Truly, Leslie, your opinion of me must be much lower than I had dreamed." He mixed his salad a little, spearing a mandarin-orange slice with his fork and then pointing it at her. "I thought you knew me better than that."

"Is there some problem between you?" Roarke asked. "I sense a squabble developing."

Leslie made a face; there was no hiding anything from him. "It goes a little deeper than that. I thought it might be helpful for Ivy to attend a birthday party for Christian come Tuesday, and he started griping and moaning about it, the way he always does. I got fed up and told him it looks like ingratitude, when all we want to do is get together with him, observe his birthday and enjoy ourselves. Even when it's just family and friends, he objects. I mean, I know he hates parties, but I think that's carrying it too far!"

Roarke met Christian's gaze and let out a small amused huff. "You are, of course, entitled to your ideas about parties, Christian, but in this case I'm afraid I must agree with Leslie. I suspect that you're so accustomed to protesting the necessity of your attendance at any party, anywhere, that even a small party meant to convey felicitations on your birthday has you rebelling out of pure habit."

Speechless, Christian began to turn very red, a rare sight on him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but just sat there for a minute or so, floundering. At last he expelled something forceful in his own language before flopping back in his chair and grumbling, "I hate to admit it, but I can see your point, now that you state it that way." He blew out a loud breath. "The problem is that even birthday parties have a way of going public, whether during the celebration itself, or after the fact. I'm just sick of having my life splashed all over the world's tabloids."

"Complain if you want, my love," Leslie said, "but it'd be just plain rude to deny all the royal-watchers a chance to wish you a happy birthday. That's no more often than any other day of the year, you know." She reached across and squeezed his wrist. "I thought it was really sweet of you to step up and invite Ivy and Janet to the party on your own, even though they're strangers to you. And you know I wouldn't have asked except that this is kind of a special circumstance."

"Just call me generous," Christian muttered, glaring at his salad.

"Not in this mood, you aren't," Leslie chided, keeping her voice gentle for the sake of the triplets, who were just now approaching with Haruko. "Come on, my love, it's just a little party. And don't forget last year's anonymity fantasy." She winked when he grunted, and turned to the triplets and their favorite sitter. "Hi there."

"Sorry we're late," Haruko said, "but Tobias had to go to the bathroom." She tapped the little boy on his shoulder. "Tell Mommy and Daddy about the bathroom."

"I go baffroom all by myself!" Tobias announced proudly. "Wash hands too." He raised them at his parents and grandfather, palms out, fingers spread wide.

"That's wonderful, sweetie!" Leslie exclaimed, leaning out of her chair to give her son a hug. Tobias beamed, hugging her back.

"Very well done, Tobias!" Christian agreed, his expression much brighter. "And how are my girls doing, hm?" He grinned at his two daughters.

"Hungwy, Daddy," Karina said and giggled.

"Then come and take your chairs," Roarke suggested, "and we'll all have lunch. Did you know your father's birthday is almost here?"

Susanna climbed onto the chair designated as hers; the triplets had at last outgrown their high chairs and now sat on sturdy wooden chairs, three in a row to Leslie's right at the table. They were each bolstered by two large, thick books so that they could properly reach the tabletop. "We have birfday too, G'ampa," she said.

"Yes, yours was not so long ago," Roarke agreed, "but this is for your father."

"Daddy's birthday," Leslie added.

"Happy birthday in advance, Mr. Enstad," Haruko offered. "I won't be here—we're going to Japan to see my grandmother again. She's doing okay, but my father's afraid Chikako and I won't know her very well unless we see her as often as possible." She grinned at Christian's, Leslie's and Roarke's inquisitive looks. "We don't, really, but she's such a nice and sweet old lady. She makes doll clothes for Chikako, and she actually gave me a genuine pearl necklace. She's full of stories about my father as a kid, too."

"So how long will you be gone?" Christian asked while Leslie tied bibs around the triplets' necks. They were still messy eaters.

"Two weeks," Haruko replied. "I kinda heard through the grapevine that Noelle Tokita and Brianna Harding would love to sit for the triplets. Mrs. Harding was visiting my mother and it came up in their conversation."

"Hm," Leslie mused, "I'll have to talk to Maureen and Myeko about that. You'll be heading off to college after this year, and there're still another two years before the triplets start kindergarten. Noelle and Brianna are both thirteen now. If we have them stay with the kids now and then, they'll get used to them, and then they can take over when you go off to school."

"In a way I'm sorry to go," Haruko admitted. "The kids are just so cute and sweet. But I'm sure Brianna and Noelle will make great sitters. Well, I'm off to lunch, see you after."

They waved her off and Leslie watched her go, slowly settling back into her chair. "All the kids are growing up," she mused aloud. "I can't believe Haruko's turning seventeen soon and heading for her last year of high school."

"We all get older, my Rose," Christian said, good humor restored, as he loaded the triplets' plates with chunks of fruit and vegetables and a couple of small slices of ham apiece. "And I guarantee you that you'll wish our children were that age long before they actually reach it." He grinned and dropped a kiss on her lips before resuming his seat.

"So what, exactly, has happened to Miss Krakowski thus far?" Roarke asked Leslie at last, once everyone was busy eating.

"Well, we took her over to Lauren's sister Deborah's salon and had her hair done; she wanted to handle that first. Ivy's hair was so insane—all tangled and knotted up in those manic corkscrew curls she's stuck with—that Deborah spent fifteen minutes just combing out all the snarls. Then she gave Ivy one of those Japanese-style chemical-straightening treatments, and by lunchtime Ivy looked totally different already. Her hair's straight as can be, nice and shiny and smooth. She had Deborah style it like mine, except without bangs. When I left to come over here, she was still staring at herself in the mirror and touching her hair as if she couldn't believe it could look like that."

Christian and Roarke laughed. "What's the plan for after lunch?" Christian asked.

"A clothes-shopping spree, and then after that, Helen's going to give Ivy a makeup lesson. I think Ivy's a lot more open to the whole thing now that she's seen what a miracle Deborah performed on her hair. She was so excited when I left."

"Good," said Roarke. "I'm very pleased to see that things are progressing so well. A fine job, Leslie. I'll look forward to your report this evening."

‡ ‡ ‡

When they got to the luau, it seemed less crowded than usual; when Leslie saw Ivy Krakowski hovering nervously on the perimeter, she had a feeling that if there had been the usual number of people, Ivy wouldn't have been enticed here at all. She looked relieved when she saw Christian and Leslie. "Oh, good," she said. "Familiar faces."

Christian and Leslie looked at each other. "You haven't seen anyone else at all that you know?" Leslie asked in surprise. "Not even your sister?"

"Oh, Janet got a really bad sunburn on the beach. She fell asleep over some boring book she brought, and didn't wake up for almost three hours. The only thing that brought her back to life was the tide rolling in and splashing her feet. So she's plastered aloe cream all over herself and taking it easy."

"Ouch," murmured Christian in sympathy. He swept a quick glance around the luau area and raised a brow, mostly at his wife. "What about your friend, Lady Helen?"

Leslie, who'd been wincing on Janet's behalf, looked too and then smiled wryly. "We should've known. There she is, on the other side of the clearing, chatting up some native guys. She never could stay away from the men, according to Father."

"Hm," muttered Christian. "As long as she stays away from me, I don't care what she does." He realized Ivy was looking at him and cleared his throat. "Are you going to try doing a little mixing, then? If I recall correctly, part of your makeover is inside, as well as outside."

"Oh…Helen suggested I just start out slow. Find somebody I know and go in with them, and get something to eat, and…" She hesitated a moment, her face growing puzzled. "I don't get this part. She said to just wait for them to come to me. Where does she get the idea anybody's gonna do that?"

Christian studied her carefully for the first time. Ivy wore a simple white sheath with short sleeves and a thin gold chain belt around the waist, and matching shoes with low heels; her hair, now sleek and gleaming in the torchlight, framed a face that had been totally transformed by a subtle makeup job. Ivy Krakowski had turned into a very pretty woman. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror?" he asked her.

"Well, I kind of couldn't help it. I was watching while Helen was making up my face. But I'm still the same old me on the inside, you know. I still don't really trust anyone. After all, do you know how many people saw me when I first got off the plane this morning?"

Leslie smiled at her. "Do you know how many more people _didn't_ see you when you got off the plane? Ivy, don't concentrate on the negatives. Just think of the positives. You look fabulous. And sooner or later, people are going to notice, and they just might come up to you and make some conversation. Especially guys. I'm not sure what it is, maybe something in the air on this island, but when single guys come to the luau, they always gravitate toward pretty women—and that even includes shy, nerdy guys." She winked.

Ivy laughed, a little reluctantly. "Not even shy, nerdy guys would be interested in me," she asserted. "Even the nerds made fun of me in school."

"Come on," Leslie scoffed, staring at her.

"Seriously," Ivy insisted. "I figured it was because there was more than one nerd in the school, but there wasn't anybody else like me."

Again Christian and Leslie exchanged glances, and Leslie finally gave in to her curiosity. "Just exactly what were you like in school that made kids pick on you?"

Ivy drew in a deep breath and lifted her hair away from her neck; there was an old circular scar on her right-hand side, a few inches under her ear and slightly in front. The scar had faded with age and Helen had artfully concealed it with makeup; but now that their attention had been drawn to it, both Christian and Leslie could see it. "This. I had a huge mole there—and I mean _huge_. The thing was as big around as the mouth of a cup, and raised from the skin a good two inches. It was dark brown and impossible to miss." She met Leslie's wide eyes. "Remember my hair before you and Helen took me to your friend's salon? I've worn it like that since I was old enough to start school. I grew it as long as I could, as bushy and thick as possible, trying to hide that mole. For ages we couldn't afford the surgery to remove it, and insurance wouldn't cover it because they said it was cosmetic surgery. But no matter how hard I tried, there was just no way to keep it from sight, so I spent my entire school career being picked on."

"Janet said you had some friends before you moved," Leslie remembered.

"Yeah, I did, but only because we lived on a street where everyone knew us and we were all longtime friends. Everybody accepted me there. I did get picked on in my old school in Wisconsin, but I still had my friends, so it was easier. Then my father's company sent us to New Mexico, and I didn't have that support system anymore. From then on, I was the school freak, the outcast."

"Ach," murmured Christian, shaking his head. "It's amazing how cruel and insensitive people can be. But I see you did eventually have it removed."

Ivy nodded. "After I got out of high school, I took correspondence courses to become a medical transcriptionist, so I wouldn't have to go out among people, and I could work at home once I found a job. I didn't make a lot of money, and again, insurance wouldn't cover it, so I spent five years saving up the money for the surgery." Ivy sighed and glanced over at Helen. "I didn't even tell her that, you know? She saw the scar and asked how I got it, and I lied and told her it was an accident. But what I just told you…that's what really happened. I know it's hard to imagine, but somewhere in here I've got a picture of me before the mole came off. Maybe you'll see what I mean." She began digging in the little white purse with its gold chain handle that dangled off one arm, and after a moment pulled out a change purse. She reached into a hidden pocket and withdrew a small photograph, which she handed to Leslie. "That's my senior picture. The only one I ever bought, because my parents begged me to have at least one keepsake of my senior year. They display a copy on their wall at home, but it's been scanned and the mole airbrushed out so I don't look so…freaky. This is the only copy left of the original unretouched picture."

Leslie blinked once or twice while Christian looked over her shoulder. The bushy, knotted dark hair that all but shrouded Ivy's unsmiling face in the photograph had been drawn back by a couple of silver barrettes, exposing an enormous mole for all the world to see. It had covered the side of Ivy's neck. "Holy fates," murmured Christian. "I can see why it was the bane of your existence."

"I had to be careful what I wore. I couldn't button collars all the way because they squeezed the mole and it hurt like crazy. Even turtlenecks didn't really hide it because it made such a huge bump on the side of my neck."

"I can't believe insurance refused to cover the surgery," Leslie said, disgusted at the idea. "My gosh, Ivy, that's just cruel, and I don't mean just the kids in your school. I guess that's insurance companies for you, though."

"Yup." Ivy took the picture back and buried it in her change purse again. "I kept that picture to remind me of what I used to go through, and why I was never going to any high-school reunions as long as I lived. I don't care that I finally did have the surgery and got that thing taken off. To those kids, I'll always be that freak with the mole."

Leslie could see where her rationale came from, and didn't bother arguing with it; but she had to wonder. The mole was long gone, the scar was hidden by makeup, and Ivy's whole appearance had changed. Roarke had mentioned at supper that the twenty-year reunion of Ivy's class would probably participate in the luau, and Leslie had a feeling they might very well have trouble placing Ivy, at least at first. But would Ivy give them the chance to figure out who she was?

Christian glanced over at the buffet, which at the moment was sparsely populated. "I think we're early; as a matter of fact, Leslie and I ate lightly at supper so we could have room for some of the food here. Suppose we go to the buffet and get something to eat, before the rest of the island remembers there's a luau this evening and swoops down on us?"

Even Ivy laughed at that, and Christian escorted her and Leslie over to the buffet, where they filled plates and stood making idle chitchat. After a little while Helen drifted in their direction and, upon seeing whom Ivy was with, stopped short and groaned, closing her eyes for a moment before joining them. "No, Ivy, dear, this isn't what I meant by waiting for someone to approach you."

"Their Highnesses are the first ones who did," Ivy said with a shrug. "To tell you the truth, Helen, I really don't mind. I'm just as happy talking with them…" She caught herself and tossed Christian and Leslie an embarrassed glance. "That is, as long as they're willing to put up with me."

"It's no hardship at all to stand and talk with you," Christian assured her, earning a surprised smile in return.

"No, not a bit," Leslie agreed, with a slight reservation. She knew Ivy heard it, for the latter woman cast her a glance tinged with panic. Gently she said, "Of course, the purpose of your fantasy is to help you gain self-confidence in dealing with people."

"There's that," Christian allowed.

"There certainly _is_ that," Helen said, poking him in the chest with one finger. She used this as an excuse to let it linger there while she went on, "I'm sure Leslie has some rounds to make, and you really shouldn't let Ivy use you for protection, so why don't you come along with me for a while?"

Leslie's lips began to curl inward as if she were sucking on a lemon, and she sidled over to Helen. "As a matter of fact, Lady Helen, I'm not actually due to make rounds till it gets really crowded here, and so far that hasn't happened. Now I'd like you to do me a favor and remember one little thing: Christian is married. To me, in case you were wondering."

Helen stared at her, eyes widening in sheer surprise at Leslie's flinty gaze. Then, to Leslie's disbelief, she looked at Christian. "Well?"

By now Christian had lost whatever patience he might still have had with her. "Well what?" he asked icily.

"Are you going to let her control you that way?" Helen wanted to know, tracing abstract patterns on Christian's shirtfront with a long fingernail.

Christian reached up and deliberately removed Helen's hand from his chest, his hazel eyes glacial, his tone equally so. "Just to answer your question, I let no one control me. You forget, I'm a prince, and no one controls a prince." He squeezed Helen's wrist until she let out a little gasp, then dropped it as though it were a toxic substance. "Leslie is right. Not only am I married to her, I'm very _happily_ married to her. You'd do well to remember that, and to remember that while many other couples may not take their marriage vows seriously in this day and age, we do. Those vows mean something to us, and if you think I'll allow you to breach them, you'd be wise to think again. There are any number of unattached men on this island at any given moment. My advice is to concentrate on one or two of them, if you're looking for someone to dispose of your weekend with."

Helen breathed loudly and deeply through her nose, so that they could hear her doing it; then, before she could react, Roarke appeared. "My dear Helen…Miss Trask," he corrected himself at sight of Ivy. "You astound me. I never would have believed you capable of such a wanton display of covetousness."

Helen pouted at him. "You just don't understand, Roarke. It's been centuries since I saw as prime a male specimen as this one. Just look at him—he's sheer perfection." When she said _centuries_, Roarke shot her a look; it took her a moment to realize what he meant before she shrugged with minimal apology.

Christian didn't notice this exchange; he was too incensed. "He is _unavailable,"_ he interjected through gritted teeth.

"Indeed he is," Roarke backed him up. "Besides, don't forget your true reason for being here!" He surveyed Ivy with a smile. "Miss Krakowski, you look lovely."

Ivy turned red. "Oh…thank you, Mr. Roarke. Helen really worked wonders."

Helen looked pleased at that. "I did, didn't I? She really has turned into a beautiful young lady, and I'll consider it a personal failure if no men approach her this evening."

"It'll be their loss," Leslie said.

"As a matter of fact, here come some people now," Roarke said, indicating behind them, and as one Christian, Leslie, Ivy and Helen turned to see a knot of people around Ivy's age, mostly males but a few females as well, making their way in their general direction.

"Oh…my…God," Ivy breathed, drawing everyone's attention to her. Leslie blinked in alarm; Ivy had gone so pale she looked as if she might faint.

"What's wrong?" Helen asked.

"Those are some of my old classmates," Ivy gasped, and suddenly her breathing got fast and shallow, her eyes wide and glistening with panic. "Get me out of here—don't let them see me, please!"

"It's too late, they already have," Helen said with a maternal frown. "Don't forget, Ivy, you're a knockout now. They won't know what hit them!"

Ivy gulped so hard they could hear it, but she stayed in place, which as far as Leslie was concerned was a small miracle in itself. The laughing, chattering group reached the buffet and playfully jostled each other in the process of grabbing plates and choosing their food; then someone spied Christian and Leslie and all but shouted, "Hey, look—we've got royalty here tonight! Famous-people alert!"

"Oh, _herregud,"_ Leslie heard Christian groan almost under his breath, but to his credit, he stayed where he was and his expression became what she called "professionally pleasant", the face he wore when dealing with the general public in his role as prince. He smiled and nodded as people filed up in front of him and greeted him, though Leslie could see the strain in his smile as he found himself answering several inane questions. A few remembered the protocol and bowed or curtsied, but most either forgot or didn't bother. As a princess by marriage, Leslie got her share of the attention too, although there was actually one person who wanted to ask her something that had to do with her job. Roarke took over for that one, leaving her to face the hordes along with her husband. Helen hovered on the sidelines, looking as if she wanted some of that adulation for herself, while Ivy shrank behind Leslie and Christian, trying not to be noticed.

Finally Helen caught sight of her latest protégée and cleared her throat loudly, so that everyone stared at her. "Folks, I'd like to present a friend of the prince and princess," she said grandly. "For heaven's sake, don't just stand there hiding!"

Leslie watched Ivy slink reluctantly out from behind her and Christian; her former classmates peered at her with interest, particularly several of the men. "Wow, gorgeous, what's your name?" one asked with an exaggerated wink.

"Ivy," she ventured in a tiny voice.

"You look fantastic," said another man. "How about a real dinner with me over at the hotel? I'll treat you to anything you want on the menu."

"I'll do better than that," the first man said. "Dinner and dancing."

"How about dinner and dancing and a moonlight stroll on the beach?" offered still another man. By now Ivy was blinking in astonishment, and the color had returned to her face; her mouth had fallen open and she was gaping at each man as he spoke.

"Hey, that's funny, we used to know an Ivy," remarked a woman curiously, which made the first three men squint more closely at Ivy.

The fifth and final person in the group, another woman, gasped. "Hey, I think that _is_ her! I mean, it sure looks like her."

The first man laughed loudly. "Are you kidding? Old Holy Moley would never have showed her face around here. We scared that freak but good from appearing in public." Ivy whitened again; Christian stiffened with anger on Ivy's behalf, and Leslie wanted to slap the guy's smug face.

The third man had been studying Ivy carefully; now he had the audacity to reach out and lift Ivy's hair away from her neck. "Can't be her, there's no mole there." Ivy flinched away from him and tried to duck back behind Leslie.

Fed up, Leslie folded her arms over her chest and glared at them. "As a matter of fact, this is Ivy Krakowski," she said coldly, "and she happens to be a friend of ours."

The same man exhibited even more gall by reaching around Leslie and pulling back Ivy's hair again, this time grasping it tightly so she couldn't twitch aside. "Damn if it isn't! I see the scar now. Huh…" He dropped Ivy's hair, and she turned her back on him, head drooping. "I didn't know they could remove that kind of monstrosity without killing her."

"I believe we can keep far better company than this," Christian remarked, icicles hanging off his voice. The two women and the second man finally found the grace to blush and backed away a few steps; the first and third men looked at each other and shrugged.

"Sure, fine, if you wanna hang around a freak like Holy Moley," the first guy said. The rest, including the ones who'd blushed, laughed, though it died quickly under Christian's disgusted glare.

"Come on, Ivy, let's find someone else to talk to," Leslie offered softly.

"No thanks," Ivy muttered. "I'm leaving." She took to her heels and vanished from the clearing in a twinkling.

Helen was wrapped in a righteous wrath. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves for carrying on such juvenile games. How old _are_ you people, anyway? The two of you," and here she jabbed an index finger into the chests of each of the two men who had picked on Ivy, "must be the fathers of little gangs of bullies—that is, if any woman ever had the bad taste to marry you and bear your brats in the first place." Christian snickered, but he and Leslie heard nothing else, for they were on their way out of the clearing in Ivy's wake. Behind them, Helen's voice continued scolding.

"I hope Ivy doesn't blame us for her high-school reunion being here," Leslie said.

Christian glanced behind them and settled a hand on her back. "Well, I don't imagine you knew about it, but I admit, I wonder if Mr. Roarke wasn't aware of it. How many times has he told your guests that he knows about everything that happens on his island? If that's true, I can't help thinking he set it up this way deliberately."

"He's also told a lot of guests that things like that are sheer coincidence," Leslie said, though her tone was uneasy. "He told Ivy's sister that this was one of those."

Christian eyed her. "There seem to be a few too many 'coincidences' on this island for my taste," he observed, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. He smiled. "Oh, don't worry, my Rose, I'm not blaming you at all. You're only human, daughter or not. You couldn't have known about it. I'm only saying that it seems suspicious."

Leslie remained silent, but in her deepest heart she had to agree with him. She hated to think her father could be so cruel as to set up such situations deliberately, despite the fact that she'd seen it happen in countless fantasies through the years. It wasn't the first time she had considered it; the question had occurred to her many times, but she had never had enough nerve to actually discuss it with Roarke. Most of the time, she had eventually drawn the conclusion that, if Roarke did arrange these situations with a particular purpose in mind, he was merely doing it for the fantasizer's best interests. In this case, she mused, if it really wasn't a coincidence, perhaps he'd arranged it as a test of Helen's coaching powers. But then, in light of the failure of the encounter at the luau, did that mean it was Roarke's foresight or Helen's coaching that was faulty?

She and Christian retired for the night about an hour later, but the conundrum kept Leslie awake for a long time while it spun around her head. The clock said nearly midnight when she heard the foyer door open downstairs, and she got up and slipped out of the room, driven at last to pursue the issue.

"Ah, there you are," Roarke said, taking in her attire.

She pulled in a fortifying breath. "Father, there's something I need to talk to you about. It has to do with Ivy and what happened at the luau."

"What did happen?" Roarke inquired, going to the desk and taking his chair there. He gestured at one of the leather chairs. "Sit down and tell me about it."

Leslie remembered then that one of Ivy's former classmates had distracted him and he had gone with her to have a discussion. "That's right, you didn't see it. Well, those people started talking…" She went on to describe the events while Roarke listened attentively; when she finished, his face was filled with concern and a trace of disappointment.

"I see," he mused. "A terrible shame that some people seem to have no manners."

"Helen was giving them what-for about it when we left," Leslie said, "and I think it's disgusting myself, but that isn't what's keeping me awake. I was afraid Ivy would get upset with us because her high-school reunion was here the same weekend she was. I know you told Janet Littleton it was a coincidence, but…well, Christian pointed out that there are a lot of 'coincidences' like that around here. I've seen it myself, so many times I couldn't count them all. Are you really sure these things are just coincidences, considering the sheer number of them? Or do you set them up that way for the purposes of the fantasy being granted? Like this reunion, for example. Janet was pretty strident when she said Ivy would never go to one of those, and Ivy herself told us she wouldn't, and why."

Roarke nodded. "Yes, the mole she once had. I knew about that."

"Uh-huh." Leslie rolled her eyes. "Of course you did. Anyway, that fantasy was scheduled months ago, and the committee setting up that reunion undoubtedly requested their reservations even longer ago than that. You had to have knowingly put them on the same weekend, because you knew that Ivy's makeover would have its ultimate test in front of her old classmates—and not only that," she rushed on as she was stricken by a new idea, "you thought it'd be good for Ivy, to get her out of her shell, just as her sister said. And if Ivy had confidence and a complete overhaul, courtesy of Helen of Troy, you figured there was no reason on earth for her to stay away from the reunion."

Roarke let several seconds elapse while she caught her breath; then he smiled. "I tell you this now only because you are my assistant, Leslie. But yes, I do often deliberately set up those 'coincidences' you scoff at. Not all of them, mind you. The universe has a force all its own, and I certainly can't control it, no matter what you may believe." He winked, and she grinned sheepishly. "Some coincidences do crop up entirely on their own, but I nudge others along. And yes, you guessed correctly that I will arrange such 'coincidences' in order to benefit a guest—even if said guest believes it's anything but beneficial."

"Is that what you did with Ivy's fantasy?" Leslie persisted.

Roarke smiled again. "How better to put Lady Helen's powers to the test?"

"Well, it failed," Leslie told him bluntly, "though I don't know whether that means Helen's talents leave something to be desired, or you just had a bad idea making Ivy face her old classmates in the first place, makeover or none."

That made Roarke chuckle. "While it may sound to you as if I am attempting to avoid culpability, it's not just a test of Lady Helen's talents. It's also a test of Miss Krakowski's willingness to follow through on the lead she was given."

"Then it might not have been anybody's fault. That is, unless you blame her classmates for being such small-minded morons."

Roarke laughed at her terminology. "There is little that can be done about that, I'm afraid. What matters now is what Miss Krakowski decides to do in the face of their recognition of her despite all the changes."

"If she crawls back into her sheltered life, I have to admit I couldn't blame her. They all laughed at her, and that one idiot even called her by that awful nickname they must have saddled her with back then. And that was after they had a good look at her and saw her new clothes, her new hairstyle, her makeup and even that the mole was gone. It just shows what jerks they are. Ivy was right. She said that to those people, she'd always be 'the freak with the mole', and I quote her."

Roarke arose and she followed suit. "Perhaps by morning, once everyone has had some time to sleep on it, something will change for the better. Why don't you try to get some sleep now so we can be there for Miss Krakowski should she need us."


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § - June 23, 2007

"Mr. Roarke, I want to lodge an official protest and complaint." The speaker was not Ivy Krakowski, but Janet Littleton, her face red, her finger pointing in accusation. "I told you what would happen if any of Ivy's classmates saw her. But you didn't listen to me, and now everything's happened just the way I told you it would. She's hiding in the bedroom in our bungalow, and she won't come out."

"Has anyone tried to get her to come out besides you?" Roarke asked.

Janet made a face. "No, I can't find that Helen Trask woman, and I'd like to know where your daughter and son-in-law have been all morning. Although I'm not sure even they could coax Ivy out, after last night's fiasco."

"I see. Well, my son-in-law is attending to a small emergency at his business, and my daughter is on the usual morning rounds; but I can call her away from them if you wish. As to Miss Trask…I will speak with her myself."

"Is that the best I can get from you?" Janet demanded.

"Mrs. Littleton, I apologize if you are feeling tricked, but I must remind you that you are the one who wants this fantasy on your sister's behalf. Whatever she decides to do, you will have to abide by it, for she is the beneficiary of the fantasy. I commend you for the generosity you show in your intentions, but you cannot control your sister's mind, and it is she who will ultimately determine how the fantasy ends."

At first Janet looked furious; then her expression slowly morphed into one of sad resignation. "I guess you're right. I just…" She looked up pleadingly. "I just wanted things to be better for Ivy. It really chafes at me, seeing her wasting her life like this."

"Perhaps she doesn't consider it a waste," Roarke suggested. "It is her life, after all."

"She does everything at home. Works at home, plays at home…she doesn't even go out to eat. She finally got rid of that damn mole, but it scarred her for life—not just literally but figuratively too. She acts like the thing's still there. I could probably understand if it were, but it's gone—and now she's had her makeover and she still doesn't want to budge outside. It's a waste, Mr. Roarke, a criminal waste!"

Roarke gave this some thought; then he studied her. "Mrs. Littleton, does your sister ever allow anyone, even you or other members of your family, to see the area where she has her scar? I saw her last evening, and it had been almost completely concealed by makeup, but I believe she doesn't wear makeup as a habit. Perhaps the scar prevents her from venturing out in public. Consider it—the removal of a mole, or anything else, of that size would produce a rather impressive and permanent scar. Did it ever occur to you that the scar causes her much of the same discomfort as the mole itself once did?"

That clearly stunned Janet, who stood perfectly still for some thirty seconds, digesting this suggestion. Roarke was slightly surprised that it had never crossed her mind, but he understood when she finally recovered enough to speak. "Actually, no. I mean…you saw that impossible mop of hair Ivy had when we first came here. She let it grow that way on purpose from an early age, to try to hide the mole. And she left it like that even after she had it removed. I always figured it was just another thing she wouldn't leave the house to do—you know, go have her hair done. But I never…" She drifted to a stop, stared into midair for a moment, as if picturing her sister, and then focused on Roarke again. "Now that you talk about it, I've never seen the scar because of that. For all I know, nobody else ever has, either, except Ivy herself."

Roarke nodded. "I see. And has your sister apprised you of what took place last evening at the luau?"

"No, she won't say anything, except to tell me to leave her alone when I knock on the bedroom door. What did happen, do you know?"

Just as Roarke was about to summarize the story Leslie had told him, Leslie herself came in the door and stopped short at the top of the steps into the room. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Littleton. How's Ivy? She was pretty upset last night."

"She's still upset," Janet told her. "She won't talk to me, and probably not to anyone else either, so I still don't know what happened. I suppose some of her snotty classmates showed up and scared her to death."

Leslie visibly stifled a smile at Janet's phrase "snotty classmates" and stepped into the room to stand by the desk. "Well, yes. Five or six of them, I'd guess. They didn't recognize her at first because of her makeover, but then someone connected her name with the girl they used to know, and they figured out who she was. Ivy told my husband and me that they'd always see her as, quoting, 'that freak with the mole.' She was right. One of them had the gall to push her hair aside so he could stare at her scar."

"The scar." Janet seized on it. "How bad is it, Mrs. Enstad?"

Leslie blinked, her mouth falling open for a second or two. "You mean you've never seen it?" she asked, astonished.

"Never. Like I was telling Mr. Roarke, that mess of crazy curls she had when we came here seemed to be a permanent fixture. She grew it like that to hide the mole and left it that way, and I just figured it was sheer habit, something else she didn't want to go out and do something about. But I guess she must have been hiding the scar. So how bad is it? I presume you've seen it."

Leslie frowned. "I have, but the way her hair's styled now, it doesn't fully hide the scar anymore. Don't tell me you haven't seen it by now!"

"She hasn't come out of the bedroom all morning," Janet informed her. "I was out when she came back to our bungalow last night, and I haven't seen her since you and that Helen Trask woman swept her off to have her big makeover."

Leslie bit her lip, pausing a moment to wonder how they could coax Ivy out of her latest cocoon, before focusing on Janet. "Well, it's a pretty good-sized scar. I'd say its diameter is smaller than the mole must have been, and it's gone pale over time, but you can tell it's there. The skin's a bit more wrinkled than neck skin normally is, puckered in some places." She glanced at Roarke, who was listening with interest. "Helen tried to smooth it out with some pancake makeup before she applied the regular stuff and blended it in with the rest of Ivy's makeup the best she could. If you just glanced at Ivy, you wouldn't have seen anything, but even with the makeup, you could still see something was different, if you took a closer look."

Roarke nodded. "So you see, Mrs. Littleton, something of that size and appearance would most certainly attract unwanted attention."

"Yeah, I can see what you mean now." Janet seemed to sag into herself. "I don't think she's ever going to get over this. I really wish those shallow-minded snarks had chosen a different weekend for their stupid reunion. Ivy could have started out gradually and gained confidence among people who didn't know her before, instead of being shoved into the deep end by facing the same idiots who beat her down in high school. Now there's no way you'll ever get her out of the bungalow till they leave—just like I told you yesterday morning."

"They are scheduled to begin departing the island in staggered groups throughout the afternoon and evening," Roarke said, "and the last of them should be on their way back to the mainland by tomorrow morning. As to whether Miss Krakowski can be persuaded to leave the bungalow before then…I have an idea. Mrs. Littleton, how is your sister around children?"

Janet frowned. "I'm not sure. She's comfortable with my son and daughter, at least, but they know all about her history, and they know not to dwell on the mole or anything about it. But I don't know about other kids. Why do you ask?"

Leslie realized then what her father had in mind, and grinned. "I think you've got the beginning of a great idea, Father. Mrs. Littleton, how'd you like to meet my children?"

"You mean your triplets?" Janet asked. "How old are they?"

"Three," said Leslie. "They do pretty well with people, but Christian and I are hoping to give them a little more exposure to new people, to help prepare them for when they start school in a couple more years. I'd bet Ivy'd love to meet them."

Janet began to grin for the first time. "I bet she would too. So what should we do?"

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, and Roarke smiled. "Let me take the opportunity to issue a lunch invitation to both you and Miss Krakowski," he said. "Christian and the children usually eat with us at that time, and the meal generally begins at noon. If you and your sister can be here by then, you will both be very welcome."

"We'll be there all right," Janet said with determination, "even if I have to throw my sister over my shoulder and carry her over here myself." She nodded to them. "Thanks for the great idea, and the invitation. See you at lunch."

When she had left, Leslie looked at Roarke and said, "Well, here's hoping this works. Incidentally, have you found Lady Helen yet?"

"I haven't had a chance to look for her," Roarke said. "Perhaps you'd like to try…?" He let the tail end of the question fade away as the inner-foyer door opened and admitted Andrew Carson Rollins, who had a desperate look about him. He startled Leslie, who had been so involved in Ivy Krakowski's fantasy that she'd actually forgotten his.

"Mr. Roarke, I need you to get those pet owners in here stat," he barked out before either of his hosts had time to greet him. "I just had a call from the manager of one of Dad's resorts, and he says he has evidence that somebody's been embezzling from the general fund, but we don't know who yet. I'm in over my head. Please, get them in here so we can figure out which animal's Dad and I can get some advice."

Roarke cast a swift glance at the grandfather clock. "If you'll have a seat, please, Mr. Rollins, I'll contact the owners and ask them to come here."

In ten minutes they had arrived with their assorted beasts: an Alaskan husky; a Maine Coon kitten; a yellow parakeet with a white chest; a small terrarium containing a frog that appeared to be either asleep or extremely bored; and a screened cage holding a large and very hairy tarantula. Everyone shied away from this last, as discreetly as possible, though of course the owner—a teenage boy—noticed. He caught Leslie's eye, shrugged and smiled resignedly, tossing his head to throw back a hank of straight burnished-copper hair that kept slipping into his eyes.

"What's the big emergency?" asked the husky's owner, a stocky man roughly Leslie's age, already going gray around the temples.

Rollins stood up and introduced himself. The pet owners looked at each other with understanding and focused their attention on him as he explained his problem and its latest twist. "Now," he concluded, "if one of your pets is my father reincarnated, I'll pay the owner five thousand dollars to, uh…'borrow' your animal for a while."

"How long is a while?" the frog's owner wanted to know.

"As long as needed," Rollins replied, which brought out a look of annoyance on the frog owner's long, thin face. He looked as if someone had attached him to a medieval torture device and stretched him till his whole body, from face to large, narrow feet, had elongated itself permanently.

"How will you know whether one of these animals is your father?" Leslie put in then.

Rollins said with exaggerated patience, as if to a dense third-grader, "That's why we're all here."

"That's not what I mean," Leslie returned, in a syrupy tone that matched his feigned tolerance. "What characteristics are you looking for that will tip you off to one animal possibly being your father?"

"I would like an answer to that myself, Mr. Rollins," Roarke said, making the man swing around to stare at him in consternation. "You have yet to provide me with a specific personality quirk that would be attributable to your father."

"Outside of irascibility," added Leslie, speaking from memory. She was rewarded by a collection of snickers from the assembled pet owners, even the frog man.

Rollins glanced at her, but he was too busy thinking to take umbrage. "He had a lot of energy, even when he got really old and most people that age would've retired. He wanted to get things done as fast as he could, but accurately too. And oh yeah, his favorite food was sushi. He used to say he could live on it."

"I believe that," murmured Leslie, reminded of the senior Rollins' visit when, in his feline guise, he'd managed to cadge a plate of sushi out of Kazuo at the hotel.

"Layla here adores sushi," spoke up the twenty-something woman who held the Maine Coon kitten in her arms. "I hate the stuff, but I buy it just for her."

"Layla's a cat," said the frog owner with a sniff. "Of course she'll eat sushi."

The cat owner gave him a nasty look. "She's also very energetic," she went on. "Give her some string or a cat toy, and she can spend hours playing with it. Keeps her healthy… doesn't it, sweetie?" she crooned to the kitten, nuzzling its head with her chin and rubbing a finger between its ears. The kitten unleashed a tiny but very loud meow that melted Leslie's heart and made her smile.

"That's nothing," the dog owner remarked. "Frosty was born to pull sleds across the Alaskan tundra—and that takes loads of energy. He eats anything and everything—not the slightest bit picky. Including sushi, by the way. And he can't wait to get out the door in the morning for his walk. I think he walks me, not the other way around." He grinned and gave the dog several hearty pats on his side; Frosty's mouth dropped open and he began to pant, in such a way as to make it appear that he was grinning too.

"He's a beautiful dog," Leslie said, and Frosty's owner beamed at her.

"Energetic?" put in the parakeet's owner, a woman somewhere in her late fifties with gray roots showing in her brown hair. "If you want energetic, just look at my Dandelion! I have to let him out of his cage for an hour every day so he can fly around my house and work off that pent-up energy of his."

"Keeps you hopping, huh?" Leslie remarked, and the woman nodded, smiling broadly at her. "He's really cute."

"Which is more than you can say for that monstrosity, I daresay," the parakeet owner observed, unconsciously shying away from the teenager with his tarantula.

"Aw, Drac wouldn't hurt a fly," the boy protested, looking genuinely wounded. Then he reconsidered and mused, "Well, maybe a fly. But only bugs. People are such suckers for the myths about tarantulas. Drac's not even poisonous."

"Doesn't look very energetic, either," Rollins commented pointedly.

"He's still tired from the trip," the boy said defensively, but Rollins looked skeptical. "It's true. He's barely moved since we got here. But normally he's all over his cage looking for something to do." He turned to Roarke as though in appeal. "Lately he's been waving his two front legs like he's trying to say something."

"Or maybe trying to catch a fly," said the frog's owner in a flat voice. The boy gave him a look meant to slay, but the frog owner, whom Leslie estimated to be somewhere in his college years or just past them, merely yawned. "This is really a big fat waste of time."

"Then what're you doing here, and bringing that dead-looking frog on top of that?" challenged Rollins, glaring at him.

The frog owner sighed. "Y'know, it's a helluva way to apply for a job, but that's why I came here. Look…" He stood up and lifted the terrarium to about chest level. "This isn't even my pet. I caught him in my parents' backyard for my little brother. But when I heard about what was happening with this situation at the ski resorts, I thought it might be a way in to see you and apply for the position of your assistant and advisor." He met Rollins' glare head-on, his face composed. "Graduated from college about three weeks ago with a master's in management and a four-point-oh average all four years. You can check my transcripts if you don't believe me. I've helped my dad manage his hardware store since I was seventeen, and I worked in it from the age of twelve. I worked all through college, too. I've managed two fast-food restaurants and was assistant manager at a ski shop."

By now Rollins had begun to look impressed. "Wow," he said. "That's not half bad, kid." Suddenly he grinned. "And I gotta admit, you were pretty imaginative, using my contest here to sneak your way in to talk to me."

For the first time, the frog owner grinned. "I'm here till tomorrow morning if you want to talk some more. I've brought my résumé, copies of my transcripts, letters of recommendation, and the kitchen sink."

Everyone laughed, and Rollins stuck out a hand; the frog owner set the terrarium on the floor at his feet and shook with him. Then the parakeet's owner cleared her throat and stood up, arms wrapped protectively around the birdcage, which was large enough to be unwieldy. "Excuse me, Mr. Rollins, but what about your father's reincarnation?"

Rollins, startled, blinked at her, then peered at Roarke. "Uh…Mr. Roarke, do you, uh, sense anything, or whatever it is you do if you…uh…"

Roarke chuckled. "Perhaps, Mr. Rollins, your solution has already presented itself in the form of Mr. Blankenship." He indicated the frog owner, who was looking much happier and more personable. "Don't you think it would be much easier to interview him and find out whether he can help you? And if it develops that he does become your assistant, you will find it far easier to communicate with him."

Rollins nodded slowly. "Yeah, come to think of it, you're probably right." He aimed a sheepish smile at both Roarke and Leslie. "Hey, sorry I wasted your time."

"It wasn't really a waste," Leslie pointed out, "if you got a new assistant out of it all."

"True." Rollins shook hands with Blankenship again. "Meet you at the hotel in an hour? Preferably without the frog." Blankenship laughed and promised to leave the amphibian behind, and the two of them departed, Blankenship toting the terrarium.

The remaining animal owners looked at one another. "Now what?" the kitten's owner wanted to know. "We came all this way for nothing."

Roarke smiled. "Perhaps not," he said. "Why don't you take your pets back to your bungalows and enjoy your day. I'll speak with Mr. Rollins; I have an idea that he may be amenable to. In the meantime, I see no reason for you good people not to enjoy our amenities and reward yourselves with some relaxation."

"That works for me," said Frosty's owner with a broad grin. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke." The others echoed him and filed out, looking a bit happier.

"Wow," said Leslie after they had left, sauntering toward Roarke's desk. "That was an unexpected happy ending. But what're you going to do, Father, talk Rollins into giving the other people their five grand?"

"It seems only fair for all the trouble they went to, don't you think?" Roarke said, and they laughed and settled down to some paperwork.


	9. Chapter 9

§ § § - June 23, 2007

About an hour before lunch, Helen of Troy finally shuffled into the study, head hanging, looking uncharacteristically subdued. "My dear Lady Helen, are you all right?" Roarke asked with concern, watching her.

Helen stopped and eyed him with a woeful look. "I prided myself for centuries on my expertise," she said, sounding just a touch melodramatic, at least to Leslie. "When I felt discouraged, I reminded myself of my stellar success record and reminded myself that in all these years and all these makeovers, I had only one failure—one. And you could hardly blame me for the fact that Marie Antoinette just didn't listen to my advice, now could you? So that could be classified as only a partial failure." Her face, which had brightened slightly, fell again. "But I think, for the first time, I've really, truly failed with Ivy Krakowski. I just came back from the bungalow she and her sister are staying in, and there's nothing that will get Ivy out of her bedroom. Not a thing."

"You tried everything?" Roarke asked.

"Everything. I even got desperate and suggested the dreaded body switch, but that only made her scream and lock herself in the closet." Helen blushed.

"Lady Helen, you know my feelings on that," Roarke reproached her.

"Any port in a storm, Roarke," she retorted. "Unfortunately for me, Hurricane Ivy is headed for self-destruction unless you can think of some way to help me."

"We've already thought of something that might work," Leslie said. "Mrs. Littleton is bringing Ivy over for lunch so she can meet my children."

Helen looked astounded. "Well, who would've thought that rug rats would do the trick? Roarke, do you mind if I join you? I'd like to see if it works."

"By all means," Roarke agreed. "Mariki will be delighted—the more, the merrier is her motto when it comes to serving meals."

Christian was the last to show up for lunch, and was quite startled to find the crowd he did at the table. Ivy, dressed in a flattering tank top and shorts, had taken to the triplets almost instantly, and they liked her too, laughing at the funny faces she made for them. Janet and Helen were there as well, looking on, Janet with wonder and Helen with a wholly unjustified pride. "I didn't know it was a party," he said.

"Oh, hello there," Helen said with a grin that made Leslie straighten up from where she was tying bibs around the children's necks. "Welcome to lunch." 

"Thanks," Christian said, casting her a skittish look and deliberately circling the table the long way around in order to reach Leslie and kiss her. "Hi, my Rose, how's your morning been? Productive, it seems."

"We've already solved one fantasy," said Leslie cheerfully. "I'll tell you about it later. Ivy, would you like to sit here beside the kids? Christian and I can share the end of the table over here, and Mrs. Littleton and Lady Helen can take that side."

They settled themselves around the table and Mariki, thrilled with the extra guests as Roarke had predicted, served them. The meal was quite enjoyable, with plenty of conversation in which Ivy participated as much as anyone else. This clearly astonished both Helen and Janet, but neither said anything about it till after the dishes had been cleared, the triplets were back upstairs with Haruko, and Christian had returned to work. Leslie came back to the table in time for Mariki to set a dish of French-vanilla frozen yogurt in front of her, having just served Roarke, Ivy and Janet while Helen refused. Helen nibbled on a grape and regarded the table with what appeared to be deep contemplation, before remarking, "I just never dreamed that little children would bring out a shy person."

Ivy looked at her, with some of Christian's earlier skittishness in her eyes. "You never asked me," she said without fanfare.

"Now, wait a minute," Helen began.

Ivy shook her head, cutting her off. "No, you wait a minute. Look—I really appreciate what you've done for me this weekend, Miss Trask. You gave me a whole new hairstyle and wardrobe, and I have to admit, the makeup session was fun too. But the other side of it was just a failure. I'm just not cut out to be a social butterfly. Some people aren't, you know." She aimed that at Janet, who shrugged uncomfortably.

"Ivy, I just didn't want to see you turn into a terrified hermit," she said.

"I know, and I appreciate that too," Ivy told her, "but you just have to accept that it's my life and I have to live it myself. Nobody else can live it for me, no matter how much they want to. Some people spend all their time directing their relatives and friends through life the way they think it should be lived, and waste their own lives in the process. Don't do that to me, Janet, please."

Janet sighed softly. "Okay, Ivy, I'm sorry."

"But you don't think _I've_ been trying to tell you how to live, do you?" Helen asked confidently. "I've merely been showing you the first steps in getting out of your cocoon."

"Which is nice too," Ivy agreed. "Like I said, I appreciate that. Janet'd be the first to tell you that I have no fashion sense at all. Now, thanks to you, I can dress in good clothes and make my hair and face look nice. But you made a mistake."

Helen's eyes and mouth popped open wide enough to give the illusion of stretching her face. _"I_ made a mistake? Me, Helen of—" She caught Roarke's look barely in time. "Helen Trask? And just where and how did I make this alleged mistake?"

"By sending me to the luau Saturday night," Ivy said, looking amazingly calm for someone who had supposedly been spooked enough to hide all day in the bungalow. "Too many people in one place at one time. And on top of that, my lousy old classmates."

"That wasn't my fault," Helen said petulantly. "You can blame Roarke for that one."

Ivy shrugged. "Yeah, well, still. You saw what happened to me."

"Ivy, Ivy, Ivy," Helen sighed. "You hardly gave it a chance. It was sheer bad luck that those troglodytes showed up and scared you away, but the problem is that you let them do it. They're only a small group of people, Ivy. There were plenty of other folks at that luau who had never met you. I'm sure that would have included plenty of single men—"

Ivy raised both hands to stop her. "Don't throw me into the dating scene, either. I'm happy the way I am, thanks anyway. I don't want anything to do with guys, because they all look at my mole—my scar—and that's all they can see."

"I taught you to hide that with makeup!" Helen reminded her.

"It's not completely hidden, though. I mean, sure, I can make it less conspicuous, but I'll never look really normal. Something that size is gonna draw attention, no matter what I try to do to conceal it. Now, once and for all, do me a favor and quit trying to transform me into some sort of extroverted gadabout. It's just not me."

No one spoke for a minute or so, till Helen cleared her throat in a delicate, almost hesitant manner and met Ivy's gaze with a hopeful one of her own. "This may sound pushy to you, but do you think you could give me one last chance?"

"To do what?" Ivy asked.

"I know you're very reluctant to trust me again after last night's fiasco, but just hear me out. Do you think you'd be able to handle meeting new people? Complete strangers who have no idea who you are or that you once had a big mole?"

"Well…" Ivy began, obviously about to balk.

"It doesn't have to be in a social setting," Leslie put in then. "You could just do something commonplace and everyday, like going to the beach. Put on a swimsuit and a big floppy hat, slather on some sunscreen, take a towel and a soda and a good book, and just stake out a place on the sand and enjoy the sun and the surf. You're out in public where anyone can see you, but you're not required to go up and talk to someone."

Ivy sat for so long pondering this suggestion that Helen began to fidget and even Janet got a bit edgy. "Ivy, for Pete's sake, answer the woman," she said finally.

"Be quiet, Janet," Ivy snapped.

"Mrs. Littleton," Roarke said with sympathy, "I realize you are concerned for your sister, but you allowed us to take her in hand, and placed your trust in Leslie and Lady Helen for the weekend. Please, let them try to help Ivy."

Ivy colored a bit. "I'm sorry, sis, but…you've gotta remember how I am. I don't mean to bite your head off. But…it just feels like you're pushing me."

"Okay, okay," Janet grumbled. "I just thought you were being rude."

"It's perfectly okay, Mrs. Littleton," Helen said. "Anyone could have jumped to that conclusion. Tell you what, why don't you go and treat yourself to a spa day? Roarke has all kinds of wonderful amenities in that little town of his here, and I happen to know that the spa is first-rate. You'll forget all your troubles and cares in there."

"A spa day?" Janet repeated, interest sharply piqued. "You know, that really sounds appealing." She looked at Roarke. "Do I need an appointment?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Littleton, you can simply walk in and you'll be taken very good care of from that moment on," Roarke assured her.

"Then I'll do it," Janet declared with relish and arose from her chair; Roarke automatically half stood up from his own. "No, don't bother, I'll find my way over. Thanks for the suggestion, Ms. Trask." She hurried off the porch and away down the lane.

"Well, that's better," Helen said with satisfaction. "Now that we've gotten the meddling sister out of the way—" She saw their looks and backtracked. "Sorry about that, but there were times I just wanted to slap a gag on her. Now then, you were considering Leslie's idea of going to the beach."

"Yeah," Ivy murmured. "Well, I guess that couldn't hurt. Everybody's too busy playing in the waves or sunning themselves to bother with strangers."

Leslie grinned. "Here, they're too busy relaxing and having fun."

"But," Helen interjected, "I should point out that if someone does come up to you and start a conversation, Ivy, for Zeus' sake don't turn into a shrinking violet or assume they're just gaping at your scar. There are perfectly friendly people out there, you know."

Ivy peered wryly at her. "I'll keep that in mind," she drawled and stood up. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to go ahead and get started."

"By all means, Miss Krakowski," Roarke said with a warm smile, rising also.

"Thanks for introducing me to your triplets, Leslie," Ivy said a little shyly. "They're all so cute, and you and Prince Christian have taught them such good manners. Everybody they meet must fall right in love with them."

Leslie grinned. "They kind of have a way about them, I guess. Thank you, Ivy. Go ahead and get changed, and if you want, come back here and I'll take you to the best beach on the island."

§ § § - June 24, 2007

"I feel a complete failure, Roarke," Helen said mournfully late Monday afternoon. "I couldn't get Ivy to try again with people, other than going to the beach or the pool or the amusement park. She made sure to do things and go places that didn't require her to speak to people any more than she absolutely had to."

"You need not feel as if you've failed at all, my dear Lady Helen," Roarke said reassuringly. "Miss Krakowski would most likely never have done any of those things, alone or not, if you hadn't given her the means by which to appear in public without feeling embarrassed or ashamed. You were the instrument of perhaps the most important part of her progress thus far: you started her on her way to breaking through her shell. Now tell me, is that the mark of one who has failed?"

Helen thought about it. "Well, perhaps not," she murmured. "Still, I'd have liked to see her become the life of the party. Sparkling conversation, devastating wit…"

"Quiet people are just as interesting as talkative ones," Leslie said.

"Precisely," Roarke agreed with a smile at her. "As Miss Krakowski herself has said, not everyone can, or wants to, be a social butterfly. But she quite possibly would never have left her bungalow at all if not for your showing her the way."

Helen looked pleased. "Well, that's true. I thought she'd be an impossible case, but as a matter of fact, she seems to have turned out quite nicely for someone as inhibited and frightened of people as she seems to be." She drew in a long breath and released it with deep satisfaction. "All things considered, I guess this young lady can be the latest addition to my long and triumphant list of successes, don't you think, Roarke?"

"Indeed," he said, amusement twinkling from his dark eyes.

Helen nodded. "Of course she can. Well, in that case…I really must get back. I've been away too long as it is, and my minions never seem to know what to do without me. Will you escort me back, Roarke?"

"I shall be most happy to do so," he replied gallantly and arose to offer her his arm.

Helen beamed at him. "You always were the consummate gentleman," she said admiringly. "That's never changed. Oh—a moment, Roarke, I nearly forgot. Leslie, I want you to give your husband a message from me. Tell him that I am very impressed by his conduct this weekend. He has earned my admiration to almost the extent that Roarke has it."

"Really? How?" asked Leslie.

"By cleaving strictly to you," Helen said with a wink. "It's not every man who can do that nowadays. Oh, of course, there are plenty who do, but just as many who don't, and that seems especially true of the famous ones. Zeus knows Paris never…" She tossed her head and waved her hand as if dismissing the subject. "Well, that's another story. May you and your prince have a very long and happy marriage, Leslie. You did very well." She turned to Roarke and smiled. "I'm ready now."

Leslie watched them go, shaking her head to herself. It had been a very interesting weekend, she mused. Roarke had succeeded in convincing Andrew Carson Rollins to pay the owners of Frosty, Layla, Dandelion and Drac the five thousand dollars he had meant as a reward for finding his "reincarnated" father, and Sean Blankenship had left the island that morning with Rollins, newly employed as Rollins' business assistant. Even Blankenship's captive frog had seemed a little perkier, she'd thought. And now they'd returned Helen of Troy to her rightful place in time, none the worse for what was really just a partial success, compared to other women Helen had helped in the past. Leslie figured there was no reason to write Ivy off as a failure; Roarke had been right when he'd said that if not for Helen's help with the hair, clothing and makeup, Ivy wouldn't have had the confidence to begin overcoming her burgeoning phobia of people.

At the evening meal, Christian glanced a bit resignedly around the table and said, "I suppose the birthday party is still on for tomorrow."

"You bet your computer monitor," Leslie said with a wicked grin. "Don't forget, you invited Ivy Krakowski. It would be pretty rude to cut and run now."

The filthy look Christian awarded her just made her laugh; Roarke, chuckling softly, put in, "It was kind of you to invite Miss Krakowski, Christian. I believe that without yours and Leslie's presence—and your royal status—we would have had a much harder time granting Mrs. Littleton's fantasy. So rest assured, your efforts are not going unappreciated."

Christian had to grin at that. "Well, it's good to know I'm not being taken for granted around here. All right, all right…just tell me the party won't last all day, and I promise to behave myself and remain in attendance throughout."

"I guess we can't ask much more than that," teased Leslie. "In that case, we should have fun tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

§ § § - June 25, 2007

Mariki and her staff in the kitchen had done a fine job of setting up several round tables in a small grouping in the main house's side yard, and they were now busily constructing a buffet that consisted of an eclectic collection of both Hawaiian and _jordiska_ dishes, plus a few mainland-American items for the sake of their guests. Christian's and Leslie's friends, as usual, were there along with their children; also in attendance were Taro Sensei and his three children, Julianne Ichino and Adam Ryerson. It seemed to Roarke that the gathering had separated itself into several distinct groups: the adults, sitting around the tables chatting; the older children gathered on the porch steps and railing, also chatting; and the younger children chasing each other all over the yard, weaving between the tables and endlessly shouting and squealing with laughter. Even Tia Sensei, a precocious little girl who at nearly three was able to carry on a conversation, had joined in the fun and made fast friends with Karina Enstad.

Janet Littleton and Ivy Krakowski were the last to arrive, and their entrance caused a flurry of interest among the others. Leslie arose and introduced the sisters to their friends, then showed them to a table where Myeko and Nick Okada were sitting along with Taro, Adam and Julianne. "Room for two more?" she asked.

"Sure, grab a chair," Nick said amiably, and everyone shifted a little to make some room for the new arrivals. Janet smiled and greeted them; Ivy managed a small, shy smile and slowly took her chair, glancing at the buffet.

Taro Sensei had been staring at her with rising interest from the moment Leslie brought her and Janet over to the table. He was fortunate enough to find himself seated next to Ivy, and smiled at her now while Janet answered Myeko's questions about where they came from and what they thought of Fantasy Island. "I haven't eaten yet," he said to Ivy. "Want to come with me and check out the buffet?"

"Okay," Ivy agreed, trying not to sound reluctant, and got up simultaneously with him. Leslie, halfway back to the table where Christian sat with Kazuo and Katsumi, Grady and Maureen, and Roarke, paused to look on with surprise and some hope.

Taro handed Ivy a plate and peered across the buffet, which was set out on a long rectangular table. "Sure is a lot of food," he commented.

"There's a lot of people," Ivy said shyly, and when he laughed, she blinked at him in surprise.

He nodded. "True," he said. "If anybody on this island can cook for an army, it's Mariki. My sister Myeko's been friends with Miss Leslie since she—Miss Leslie, I mean—first came to live here, and we used to hear stories from Myeko about how Mr. Roarke's cooks were always trying to fatten Miss Leslie up. Guess Mariki's still at it."

"Princess Leslie doesn't need fattening up," Ivy said. "She's just fine like she is."

"Yeah, I think so too, and I'm sure Prince Christian agrees." Taro chuckled. "I work for him, and he's a really great boss. Can't ask for better."

Leslie smiled and resumed her seat beside Christian, who was deep in discussion with Kazuo and Grady about the best way to execute some soccer play. In light of that, she kept an eye on Taro and Ivy, hoping that he could put her at ease enough to show her that not everyone cared as much about her mole, or the scar it had left behind, as much as she thought they did.

Before she knew it, though, her attention was distracted by Maureen, who poked her on the shoulder as she paused with a plate in her hand, having just completed her own tour of the buffet. "So these two were guests of yours this past weekend?" she asked, sitting.

"Yep. I don't honestly know how much of a success it's going to be, if you want the truth, but Taro making friends with Ivy is the best sign I've seen since Ivy had her makeover on Saturday." Leslie let her gaze drift back to the two moving slowly along the tables, and Maureen followed suit.

Myeko scooted over to them then from her table, and knelt down beside them to keep their conversation fairly private. "Where'd you find that woman, Leslie?" she wanted to know. "She's the first female Taro's shown any interest in since he divorced Iriata and brought his kids back to Fantasy Island. Who is she?"

"Her name's Ivy Krakowski and she's from Wisconsin, and unless I miss my guess, she and Taro are the same age. Her sister brought her here for a fantasy, and we weren't sure it was really going anywhere. But Taro's interest in her is a great sign."

"Wow," said Myeko, amazed. "I'd love to know what it is about her that hooked him like that. Not after he swore up and down last year that he wasn't going near any women for a long time—maybe not till after Tia was out of college. He told us that at a family cookout, and my parents looked a little surprised. I think they had a good laugh about it later, in private. Wait till I tell them about this."

"Don't be too quick to spread the news," Leslie cautioned. "Let's see how this goes first. Technically, Ivy's fantasy isn't over yet."

At that point, Dawn Okada, now almost six, came to a halt beside them. "Mrs. Enstad," she asked, "when's the cake coming out?"

Leslie, Myeko and Maureen laughed. "Pretty soon, honey," Leslie assured her, ruffling her shiny black hair.

"Did you eat the tuna salad I got you?" Myeko asked sternly.

"Yes," Dawn said, bobbing her head.

"And the carrots with ranch dressing?"

"Uh-huh."

"And how about the—"

"I even ate that, Mommy," Dawn insisted. "Now it's time for dessert!"

Myeko rolled her eyes, making Maureen and Leslie laugh. "Her logic kills me," Myeko said through a sigh. "Well, like Mrs. Enstad said, the cake'll be out soon. Mariki has to get finished baking it first. Go back and play with the other kids."

Dawn leaned in to her mother and stage-whispered, "Mommy, Cat says she's a princess. But I don't really believe it. Princesses never come here." With that, she turned and skipped away to rejoin Cat Bartolomé, also known as Princess Catalina of Arcolos. This time the three friends broke into loud, sustained laughter.

Michiko came to join them, dragging her chair from the table where Camille, Lauren, Brian and Jimmy were sitting and chatting. "You sound like you're having a lot more fun than I am. What's the joke?" She laughed delightedly when Leslie told her.

"What was making things so boring over there?" Maureen asked.

"They're talking about boats," said Michiko. "Jimmy and Camille are apparently considering buying a sailboat, and Brian and Lauren are giving them all sorts of arcane advice that completely escapes me. So Leslie…tell me, did Christian have another tantrum about the party for his birthday this year?"

"Never fails," Leslie said with amused resignation, tossing a glance over her shoulder at her husband, who was in the midst of a detailed recitation complete with hand gestures. "I finally called him out on it, and I think he was a little startled, but he gave in like he always does. I hate to think what he'll do next year when he turns 50."

By the time the cake had come out, been served and eaten, and the presents had been opened, Taro and Ivy were sitting at a table all by themselves, talking earnestly with their heads close together. Activity swirled around them as guests began preparing to leave with their children, and Roarke and Mariki helped Christian and Leslie start loading the car with the gifts and any leftover food. For a while nobody noticed, not even Janet, who as she pitched in with the cleanup was talking animatedly with Tabitha Ordoñez.

But then, as Leslie was searching beneath a table for a collection of pebbles that Tobias had amassed and then managed to scatter all over the lawn after a fall, she heard their voices nearby, just loud enough to pick up the words. "Looks like they're starting to pack up to go," Taro remarked. "You know what? You're almost the only one I've talked to since this party started, but I never had such a great time at a party before."

"Neither have I," said Ivy, sounding very surprised. "To tell the truth, well…I've never really been to an adult party."

"Aw, c'mon," scoffed Taro. "Why not?"

From the corner of her eye, Leslie saw Ivy shift in her seat and draw back the hair on the right side of her face. "Because of this."

Taro squinted at her, then frowned. "Huh, I didn't even notice that. Whatever it was, I hope it wasn't too bad."

"Worse than you can probably imagine," said Ivy. Her tone was cautious, but there was an undercurrent of wonder and hope in it. "I, uh…I used to have a mole here. It was a monster—a little bigger around than this scar. I was born with it, and it caused me no end of trouble all the way through school, but especially high school."

"Wow, I'm sorry to hear that," said Taro, but he seemed puzzled. "So wait a minute, you mean the mole prevented people from inviting you to parties?"

"Pretty much. You'd have had to see it to believe it. I have a picture…" Leslie tried to look busy searching for her son's rocks while Ivy rummaged in her purse for the senior photo she had shown Leslie and Christian. To tell the truth, she wasn't thrilled about having Tobias stuff his pockets with small rocks that undoubtedly would be distributed throughout the house, but hunting for them gave her an excuse to eavesdrop. _Okay, I'm shameless,_ she admitted to herself, _but I really want a happy ending for Ivy, and I hope Taro's it!_

Taro let out a low, soft whistle then. "I see what you mean," he murmured. "But it takes a really shallow mind to focus on that and overlook everything else." Leslie could see him set the picture on the table and lean toward Ivy a little. "Like I said, I never saw any scar till you showed it to me. I've been sitting here talking to one hell of a smart woman with a great sense of humor and a lot of interests. Someone I wish I could know better."

"Well…" Ivy hesitated a moment; when she spoke again, Leslie could have sworn she was smiling. "I'm actually due some vacation time, and I think this island would be a great place to spend it. I-I'd like to get to know you better too. You're probably the first guy I ever met who saw anything beyond that scar."

"Great," Taro exclaimed. "We could start with dinner tonight, if you want. The pond restaurant at seven?"

"I'll be ready," Ivy agreed.

Leslie grinned to herself and began to put some real effort into her search. By the time Christian came looking for her, she had a small handful of rocks. "Hmm," he said, crouching on the ground beside her, "what on earth are you baring your teeth so hard over?"

Leslie giggled. "I'll tell you on the way home," she promised. "Here, see if you can find any more of your son's rock collection."

§ § § - June 26, 2007

Roarke and Leslie saw Janet Littleton off on the plane on Tuesday morning, and had to admit to amusement at her pure shock over Ivy's decision to stay on for a while. "I never even saw her sitting with that guy all the way through Prince Christian's party," she said in a daze. "And now she's staying so she can give this maybe-romance a fighting chance? I'd never have believed she had it in her."

"When the right person comes along, it can make an enormous difference in one's life," Roarke said. "And it happens most often when you least expect it."

"I guess so," Janet mused. She shook her head to herself, then focused on him and smiled broadly. "I want to apologize for my complaints over the weekend. I should have known you had something in mind for Ivy."

Roarke chuckled. "No apologies necessary," he said. "Your sister is well on the way to having a fulfilling life and making new friends, and perhaps even finding that romance you mentioned. You wanted only her happiness."

"And you helped her start finding it," said Janet. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke. And thank you too, Your Highness." This she addressed to Leslie, who simply smiled back and privately wondered if she'd ever get used to being called by the honorific. "And before I forget, please give Helen Trask my thanks, too. She turned Ivy into quite a knockout. I always knew there was a cute girl under all that hair, but even I never realized just how cute."

They all laughed, and Janet headed for the plane, waving back at them over her shoulder and beaming, without ceasing her stride. A few moments later, the seaplane's engine coughed and sputtered, and it began to taxi away from the dock.

"So," Roarke said as he and Leslie climbed into the nearby rover in which they had brought Janet to the plane dock, "has Michiko been enjoying her summer at home?"

Leslie nodded. "I think she and her mother have been getting a lot closer to each other since her father's funeral. Not that they weren't already, but now even more so. She told me she's a little afraid of losing her mother before too much longer, and she wanted to strengthen the ties between them. It's hard to blame her for that. I think she also wants to get to know all her nephews and her little niece—Hachiro and his wife are supposed to be bringing their family for a fairly extended visit sometime in August, I think."

"I see. And has Mrs. Tokita made a decision about selling her home?"

"Not so far. But who knows, something might just come up. Anyway, do you need me for anything? If you don't, I think I'd better get home. I've got an awful lot of food shopping I need to do, or I'm going to hear back from my family."

Roarke laughed. "By all means, go." He watched her hurry to the car that was waiting in the lane, and sat for a few minutes in the rover, thinking about the incredibly odd letter he had received in the previous day's mail. He had never had a fantasy request quite like this one, and he intended to think it over very carefully before he responded to it. He might even ask his daughter's opinion. Even if he did decide to grant it, it would be some time before the guest came here; so he decided to take a break and indulge in a long walk.

He stepped out of the car and stood in the sunshine for a bit, just enjoying the warm sensation on his shoulders. Would this possible future guest ever be able to bask in such simple pleasures again? There, indeed, was the big question; the answer would be a long time coming.

* * *

><p><em>That cliffhanger is for a story that's a bit down the road, so I hope you can stand the wait! [grin] Thanks to PDXWiz for the idea behind this story; he was really taken with the Helen of TroyHelen Trask character played by Jill St. John in the episode "Paquito's Birthday / Technical Advisor", which first aired on May 23, 1981, and (as well as Ms. St. John) featured Randi Oakes (Nancy Harvester), Jim Stafford (Gene Jefferson), A Martinez (Manuel Lopez), Linda Cristal (Consuelo Lopez), Victoria Racimo (Doña Dolores), Jerry G. Velasco (José), Susan Saldivar (Elena), and Anthony Trujillo (Paco Lopez)._


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